The snow day wasn't bad, actually. Because Reid is not the sort of person who willfully accepts a lot of binding clothing, getting ready to go out was more of struggle. I had decided to only go outside if the actual precipitation slowed enough that we didn't look like candidates for institutionalization. It did, to a degree, so I began the bundling of the boy. Mittens first, then sweatshirt, then a grownup scarf (we have no toddler scarf), then coat, then extra socks and shoes. Reid was like Ralphie's brother in "A Christmas Story," with his arms stiff and sticking straight out. I planted him in the stroller and we hit the streets.

While I Was bundling the snow rate must have picked up. I got about one house away and the top of the stroller was covered in snow. We turned back. (We had offered to bring Dixie; she wisely declined.)

We stood on the porch playing with the snow that had built up on the ledge there. I'm not sure exactly how parents get toddlers to put their thumbs into the thumbholes on mittens. No matter how many times I say, "No, Reid, as I'm sliding these mittens over your hands, put your thumbs in the little opening," it doesn't happen. Shocking, I know. So Reid really wanted to play with the ledge snow (or at least that's how I interpret the fact that his rigid arms were gesturing, in a sweeping motion since he couldn't bend at the elbows, at the snow). He felt the mitten-and-snow experience was unfulfilling. Off came the mittens.

Update from Reid to his father, via shocked expression: This. Is. Very. Cold.

We goofed around with it until he got bored (which happened, thankfully, before he got frostbite) and we went inside and took off all the layers. I imagine myself making hot chocolate, but I guess that doesn't apply to toddlers.

We just read the paper instead.