It snowed yesterday. Which meant that once again, we were inside all day, or most of it. When it was snowing big fluffy flakes, and we still had about an hour to go before Dad came home, and I was going stir crazy, I decided that she should enjoy the snow.So we put on her boots, her mittens, her coat, my coat, my mittens, my hat, my shoes and braved the outdoors. We walked down to the mailbox. I had a super tight grip on her wrist so that each time she slipped I could catch her before she did a face plant in the snow. She actually did quite well, considering that she has a hard time walking in her camo boots. It made me smile to look at our two sets of footprints trekking down the road.
On the way back to our house, the footprints tell a different story. Every few steps, Kiddo felt the need to bend over and touch the snow (with her mitten). Then she would look up at me and tell me about the snow. I would convince her to take a few more steps, and then we would stop, and she would touch it again, and be impressed by the marks her mittens left. Each time we stopped it took that much more prodding and pulling to get her started again, and she went that many fewer steps before pausing, until she really just stopped. I tried to convince her to move, to walk, but she was done. She was content to touch the snow and look at her boots. So I picked her up and carried her the rest of the way home. (To her defense, it's the distance of five duplexes from our house to the mailbox, so it's not a short walk, and the way back is uphill.)
Once home, we shed all the layers, changed her wet (from the snow) pants and were sufficiently refreshed from our break from the house.
