I grew up in Eastern Idaho, where winters were harsh and the snow was often deep. In at least two instances, I got my tongue stuck to something frozen. The first was the railing outside our house (I have no idea why), the second was an icicle hanging from the exhaust pipe of our Buick. There was a lot of screaming and my mother pouring hot water down the front of me. I clearly lived to make her proud.
Raising Morgan in Boise has meant that winters are generally much more low key. We get snow and ice, but it rarely sticks. If he waits long enough, everything melts before David has to shovel it. This morning, we had a skiff of snow in the yard. I gathered up all of the snow gear I could find and told Morgan we were going to build a snowman. Oh, the joke was on me. The snow was dry and flaky, much more like rock salt than fluffy powder. Only one of us cared.
Before long, we had a "track" leading all around the front yard.
Morgan stood there, beaming. I know she expected me to know what she had done but I had no idea, none. As she looked at me expectantly, I finally just had to ask. It was one of those moments that I didn't want her to know that whatever "masterpiece" she had created looked like a big pile of, well, nothing. Fortunately, she spared me the embarrassment. "Mom, can you believe all the deer we had walking around out here? There were just so many!!!" Duh.
At four, my child is already so much smarter than I am. That being said, I am still going to be on the lookout for dirty icicles.
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