Some Long-Awaited Winter Fun
Now that it's late February, winter has hit Wisconsin in a big way. There are several inches of snow on the ground--something we haven't seen since December--and it got crazy-cold for a while in a way we'd all forgotten it could. A few weeks with temperatures in the high 30s F and that's bound to happen.
The sledding stars finally aligned two days ago, providing skies sunny enough to make the temperature bearable without melting all the snow. Under almost ideal conditions (it seems a little twisted to call 28 F "ideal"), the kids and I headed to a hill in a park off the Fox River just after lunch.
Following a few runs down a well-smoothed slope that belonged entirely to us that afternoon, we went to romp in the playground at the bottom of the hill. I spent much of the time lying on my back in the snow, my head resting on one edge of a snow-covered sandbox, after an ill-advised backflop off a spinning merry-go-round into what I thought would be a cloud-soft blanket of fluffy white. Instead, I landed hard on my rump, experiencing a sensation not unlike my spinal cord being ripped from the base of my brain. But at least the kids had fun.
From there, we walked a toddler-scale distance out onto the Trestle Trail, a former railroad bridge converted into a popular recreation path. This windswept water crossing is bordered on each side by railings made of two-inch-diameter steel pipe and sturdy cables spaced about five inches apart. While it seemed unlikely that either of my children would slip through such a small gap, I couldn't fight the weak-kneed, lightheaded feeling that overcame me every time one of them came within six inches of the edge. I imagined a fall into the icy water, a frantic dive made in the name of rescue, a frozen-limbed swim to the shore...it was all too much. We quickly headed back to solid ground and back to the car.
Once we were home, I served hot chocolate with microscopic marshmallows in the two tiniest mugs we own, one of which I got during one of my own single-digit birthday parties at Shakey's Pizza Parlor. It's made of clear glass and is about an inch and a half in diameter.
It was from this mouse-sized mug that our two-year-old was trying to spoon the marshmallows stuck to the bottom after she'd sucked all the liquid out. She was having a devil of a time since the spoon was just barely smaller than the mug's mouth, and she was audibly frustrated as I emptied the dishwasher. Putting silverware into its drawer, I heard her and her big brother giggle, and I looked up to see him, with his slightly superior coordination, scooping the sweet morsels out and spoon-feeding them to her.
And THAT was my sweet treat for the afternoon.
The sledding stars finally aligned two days ago, providing skies sunny enough to make the temperature bearable without melting all the snow. Under almost ideal conditions (it seems a little twisted to call 28 F "ideal"), the kids and I headed to a hill in a park off the Fox River just after lunch.
Following a few runs down a well-smoothed slope that belonged entirely to us that afternoon, we went to romp in the playground at the bottom of the hill. I spent much of the time lying on my back in the snow, my head resting on one edge of a snow-covered sandbox, after an ill-advised backflop off a spinning merry-go-round into what I thought would be a cloud-soft blanket of fluffy white. Instead, I landed hard on my rump, experiencing a sensation not unlike my spinal cord being ripped from the base of my brain. But at least the kids had fun.
From there, we walked a toddler-scale distance out onto the Trestle Trail, a former railroad bridge converted into a popular recreation path. This windswept water crossing is bordered on each side by railings made of two-inch-diameter steel pipe and sturdy cables spaced about five inches apart. While it seemed unlikely that either of my children would slip through such a small gap, I couldn't fight the weak-kneed, lightheaded feeling that overcame me every time one of them came within six inches of the edge. I imagined a fall into the icy water, a frantic dive made in the name of rescue, a frozen-limbed swim to the shore...it was all too much. We quickly headed back to solid ground and back to the car.
Once we were home, I served hot chocolate with microscopic marshmallows in the two tiniest mugs we own, one of which I got during one of my own single-digit birthday parties at Shakey's Pizza Parlor. It's made of clear glass and is about an inch and a half in diameter.
It was from this mouse-sized mug that our two-year-old was trying to spoon the marshmallows stuck to the bottom after she'd sucked all the liquid out. She was having a devil of a time since the spoon was just barely smaller than the mug's mouth, and she was audibly frustrated as I emptied the dishwasher. Putting silverware into its drawer, I heard her and her big brother giggle, and I looked up to see him, with his slightly superior coordination, scooping the sweet morsels out and spoon-feeding them to her.
And THAT was my sweet treat for the afternoon.
posted by Lisa Strandberg at 9:37 PM
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