Global Warming? I don’t think so. Yes, we’ve had a winter that has so far been dominated by 50 degree weather, but that doesn’t mean we can’t still get a blizzard, right? Well, I’m pretty sure it does, actually.
Although I don’t really love winter, I do get excited for the first big winter snow storm, so Friday night was filled with childlike anticipation as I waited for what would surely be a beautiful, white covered Saturday morning. And I woke up to find…
about one inch of snow on the ground.
When I was growing up, playing in the snow was the best! You would get all bundled up, grab your sled, and head to that crazy hill in the backyard of the house of the retired couple that was living in Florida for the winter. By January, we had already had about 17 snowstorms. And there was always a good 6-12 inches of wet, beautiful snow – perfect for making snow men, snow angels, and for, of course, sledding.
But that was the 80s. Times were simpler. Winters were colder. Global warming was just this fabled, little talked about “theory”.
Fast forward to this past Saturday. We finally get our snow. But it amounts to about 2 inches: It’s dry, completely unusable, and black within about thirty minutes of hitting the ground, because I live in New York City, and let’s face it, the white will only stay pristine for as long as it takes for a dog to pee on it, or a taxi to run over it. We decide to brave the pee and sludge-covered snow and bring our 3 year old son outside. But playing outside after a snow fall is a little different here in New York. Our 10 month old was napping during the time of said “outing”, so we couldn’t really go anywhere but right outside our building. We still got Jack completely bundled up: snow pants, boots, the whole bit. But we basically just walked down our front stoop to the little patio in front of our building. Now, I use the word “patio” very generously here. It is basically a 150 square foot concrete space where we put our garbage cans. But covered in snow it looked lovely!
Regardless of the small playing space and the dry, pointless snow, my son had a blast! He was throwing snow, eating snow, falling in the snow, and just having a great time. Meanwhile, I was bound and determined to make a snowman out of these ridiculously lame snowflakes – and in the end here is what I came up with:
I’d like to blame this pathetic-looking mini-snowman on my son, but really, this was all me. As you can see from the picture, there is a little piece of leftover Christmas tree next to him. That was supposed to be one of his arms, but because the snow was so crumbly, I couldn’t get the branch in his little snowball body. So there you have it: A paraplegic snowman made not by a three year old, but yours truly. I think we can all agree that it’s a work of art.
We may not have gotten a big snow storm, and we may live in a city and under life circumstances that often make it hard for us to really get out there and live it up in the snow, but we still had a great time. That snowman, on the other hand: He got squashed by my son about thirty seconds after I took those pictures. My dreams of snowman making were crushed, and frankly, so was he, but my son thought it was hilarious.