We are entering a third, cold, soul-stealing day of homeboundness thanks to the ice coating on our hilly street. I've got a rental car from a previous bad driving decision, so I'm not about to take the gamble with Enterprise's finest.
I was born in St. Louis. Before we moved to the tropics of Florida, my parents took the opportunity to snap many pictures of me in my awesome winter coat, mittens, and arsenal of snow balls.
Understandably, I was giddy to get the Yoys out into the snow for fun. I bundled them up, a process not to take lightly. In fact, it took many, many minutes.
I bundled myself up.
I texted my Floridian neighbors, who I knew would be the only other people around that would understand my manic snow feelings, and headed outside with the boys.
For ten minutes, it was epic snow fun.
Snow angels, snow balls, snow trains. I took approximately 500 pictures so Big and Little E could look back and remember that time they played in the snow.
Big E went down for a snow angel thanks to the encouragement of our neighbor.
Big E's face said it all. This white sh*t is cold.
And scene. He was done with the snow.
I NEED A HOT SHOWER! HOT SHOWER NOW!
Big E went running into the house in a panic.
I laughed. He clearly inherited my reptile blood.
Big E is not impressed with the snow and ice.
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