In a previous post, I mentioned the snow. I posted a bunch of pictures -one of which included a snowman. WELL, the day after we made our snowman, we woke up to a fresh cover of new snow!
What do you do with a fresh cover of new snow?
Make a pirate snowman!
My son tried to make sure there was no doubt he was, indeed, a snow MAN, but luckily that idea crumpled in his hands before he could apply it (I’m talking literally here).
Dad was off work, so we were able to not only make a snow man
But snow angels 
(yes, the zipper on that coat is broken.)
And a big snowball fight that we didn’t get pictures of because… well, we were busy fighting. I got snow down my back, and my husband didn’t. I’ll let you infer from that fact that I am the nice one and he is the naughty one (instead of seeing it for what it is: he won the fight. I lost).
We snacked on icicles.
And then we went inside where we watched the animated version of How the Grinch Stole Christmas by the most genius poet of our day (probably all days there ever were in the whole entire history of the WORLD), and then we took naps. As the day wore on, we watched dads ride by on horses -their kids in their arms in front of them… we watched birds pick at the snow, and we ate our leftover cookies.
The power stayed on, and we were even able to make it up to Grandma and Grandpa’s house for a visit.
Snow is very welcome in Arizona. Aside from the fun it offers, it’s a sort of insurance against wildfire season.
The nest day the kids ran inside after church, immediately changed their clothes, put on their snow boots, and headed back outside. My husband and I sank onto the couch for all of three minutes before we were started by a loud
*SMASH*
We ran outside to find our pink-coat clad daughter standing in front of us.
“What was that?” We asked her.
“The window,” she pointed.
The hole in the window was already there. But the huge crack that ran from it to the top and bottom of the window? Brand new!
“Did you do that?” We asked.
“Yes,” she nodded, “I’m sorry.”
“What did you break it with?” We asked.
“I don’t know, just that…” she pointed to a metal tent stake we had used to hold our tomato cages down (or up, depending on the wind) “I don’t know what it’s called.”
“Why?” At this point we were more intrigued than angry.
“I was just tryin’ to get a icicle.” She pointed to the roof of our house. My gaze followed her finger, and…
Apparently the last tent stake she had thrown had gotten lodged in the ice on our roof. Naturally, she had to get another one and try again.
Naturally.
Because we have to do everything ourselves when we’re four. Asking for help from someone tall enough to snap an icicle from a rooftop is definitely our last option… A Daring Plan for the Desperate.
Those icicles have been known to kill people!