I have said it before and I'll say it again, I do not know how to parent in a northern winter without the aid of snow and ice. The kids keep looking at me, like starving dogs, to feed their hunger for entertainment. And I keep looking at the sky for help.
Case in point, we went for a walk-- yawn-- through the brown landscape, sprinkled with hints of what could be, and just as everyone was about to fall asleep on their feet, I stepped onto a snow-dusted section of my parents' driveway and, be still my heart, slipped on ice. Beautiful ice.
Ice Ho! Ice Ho! Ice! I yelled. (Lest anyone take offense, let it be known the girls had been playing pirate ship on a fallen tree and some just moments earlier.)
The girls came running and, like trained Olympic curlers, swept away the snow to reveal a three yard stretch of smooth, delicious, opportunity-filled ice. Right there in the middle of nowhere, silently waiting for us.
First I took a running start and slid across. Then Esther followed and Isla after her. Soon they were smiling, giggling and hooting, and slipping and sliding and mock ice dancing and, in the case of Isla, ice break dancing back and forth along that darkly perfect stretch of ice. They were riding that ice like they stole it.
And I breathed out a huge mommy sigh of relief at finally, finally, feeling like a Vermont winter mom again. Phew!
An hour earlier, I had been threatening to get in the car and drive half an hour to a ski area or indoor skating rink. Finding fun without doing that, and without spending a penny, is, to me, sweet victory.
On the way back home, we discovered the stream running through our pasture was frozen enough to walk on. Not exactly a river to skate away on, but Isla was determined to teach her feet to fly.
|Walking the plank.|
Read my most recent post at BabyCenter, if you'd like.