So apparently we were "in" for it, snow-wise. This past weekend, we were due for the "Snowstorm Of The Century." (Grammar disclaimer: Meteorologists' emphasis in capitalization, not mine.)
(Not that we're very many years into the current century, but who's counting and I digress...)
Okay. Okay. Some places did get that. But in our area, the total snowfall amounts varied from one inch to about 9 inches.
Not that I'm complaining.
I'm the biggest "snow grinch" around. I can't stand the stuff -- the icy wetness that seeps into your shoes or drips down the back of your neck...
But being a parent means I have to balance my snow "grinchiness" with allowing the kids to enjoy it. No point turning them into "snow grinches," too. Yet.
So on Sunday afternoon, we dug out all the hats and scarves and mittens and boots and snow pants (that are way too small), and we donned said gear for 20 minutes of snowy fun.
This was the first year that Ethan got to play in it, too.
And, well, he wasn't impressed.
Not an iota.
Perhaps it was the time of day (too close to naptime), or maybe it was the thousands of layers he had to wear just to waddle around in a white outerworld that looked nothing like anything he knew.
He managed to make a snow butt-angel, and I dug a path to a spot in the yard and put his play garden in it. I even pulled a few balls from the snow. He played for a little while but decided that it wasn't any fun to grab balls that immediately slipped away or trip over icy spots on the path.
The "Snowstorm Of The Century" was a bust as far as he was concerned.
However, Emily and Edward had fun in it, building some snow creations and throwing snowballs.
Maybe we'll try again before too long.