I took a stay-home day last Saturday as the snow started falling, taking the opportunity to get myself out of trouble and also spend a bit of time with the kids.

They, of course, were ecstatic about the snow. It's one of their favorite things: just to go outside and ride sleds, build snowmen and throw snowballs. Not to mention eating snow and iccicles.

It's almost as if the children are setting out a checklist of things to do when the snow falls. I went up to the building and got out my old sled, a plastic one with a seat like a car and two handles that could be used for steering. It was first purchased in the 1970s and had been in service ever since. Well, at least until I decided I was too old to ride a sled, which probably happened in the last 20 years or so.

That's the great thing about kids, they give people like me an excuse to do things we'd otherwise be ‘too mature' to do—like pelt people with snowballs, slide down the hill, roll in the snow, and generally act like a child.

On the bright side, I can now more easily carry the sled up the hill. On the other hand, since I'm the adult now, I have to help more often than ride. In fact, I didn't get a single ride this year.

As the girls took their fifth or sixth trip over the hill, there was a small jump heading across the driveway. As most people know, these are the things that make sledding worthwhile. The snow had melted on the driveway pretty early, but we worked to pack a little of it over the gravel here and there to make the landing a little more hospitable.

However, with both of them riding together and the temperature hovering in the 20s, the sled hit the driveway and broke in half. I'd say the cold and age combined to make the plastic brittle.

Both children started crying nearly immediately. "You shouldn't have put us both on at once," my oldest daughter Rylie complained.

"Yeah," agreed my youngest, Trinity, with her arms crossed.

I'm not sure if they were concerned about the sled or about getting in trouble for breaking it. I had just gone through that speil, ad nauseum, about it being a very special sled and about memories of riding it through the years, the coolest sled ever. Apparently, the problem was neither, it was the realization that the day's sledding was done. The two round plastic saucer riders that they had before were both broken last year. I guess we're just rough on sleds.

Well, in trying to keep my children happy, I agreed to replace the sled. What I didn't know was that a similar sled today costs about $100. Come on people, it's plastic! Well, polyethel-whatever is a kind of plastic, right? I think I could build a sled cheaper than that. Of course, I always think things like that and it seldom works out as well as I had thought it would.

Oh well, a promise is a promise. Maybe I'll hit the lottery and I won't have to worry about a measly $100. Then again, maybe I should buy a ticket first.

Anyway, after the sled broke and the tears stopped, I took the broken sled to the truck and dumped it unceremoniously in the back and started to head inside.

"Wait, we still have at least three more things to do," said Rylie. She proceeded to remind me of that mental checklist I mentioned earlier. "We can throw snowballs, build a snowman and roll down the hill in the snow," she said. They had already checked off ‘make snow angels' multiple times. Last year I showed them how to slide down without a sled, but opted against that since the driveway was snow-free this time and it must be crossed for any ride at my house. It might make for a sudden and painful stop.

After the sled broke, I was pelted by snowballs—remember, make sure your kids don't make snowballs out of the patches of snow on the gravel driveway, those tend to hurt.

While I was still in the house, my daughter had started the base of a snowman. She produced a 100-pound snowball that somehow ended up down below the house near the Christmas tree field. I was asked to try and carry it up the hill, which was somewhat like lugging a piano up a flight of stairs. Just as I reached the top of the hill, I fell and dropped it, breaking it into three pieces.

Not deterred, I threw the pieces over the fence and helped them turn them into somewhat of a snowman. I never get too ambitious with these things, lest I find myself out carving ice with the chainsaw for several hours on subsequent years. No, a little three-foot-tall snowman with simple stick arms is more than sufficient for the task.

After that, the kids rolled around in the snow and then noticed that the melting snow was collected in a pool in the driveway. They then decided that would be a neat place to splash around for a few minutes. Of course, water at near freezing with chunks of ice floating in it isn't a good thing to get inside your shoes. After they were forced to go inside, wanting to stay out even with wet feet, I was reminded that I still needed to make hot cocoa. Maybe this is how traditions get started.
 

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