It doesn’t snow where we live. Ever. Okay, I take that back. It snowed…briefly…when we first moved here, but I don’t think it can be called snow if it melts the minute it hits the ground. (Neighbors were outside with their cameras taking pictures. Cracked me up.)
Not that it snowed that much back in Oklahoma, but at least there was the possibility of it snowing. Out here, unless you live up in the higher elevations, you aren’t going to see any snow. That is unless your home owner’s association brings a truck load of it in for you.
A couple of weekends ago we had a Snow Day at our HOA clubhouse. It might have been a sunny, 70 degree day, but my boys were bundling up to play in 10 tons of snow.
Our neighborhood is a pretty good size and is mostly filled with young families. Kids are everywhere. Prime example–during Halloween there were kids and families all over the neighborhood, a fire truck from our local station drove slowly through the neighborhood handing out candy to the kids, and I handed out 10 bags worth of candy. I loved every minute of it. It was one of the reasons that we picked this house.
There was no doubt that Snow Day was going to be a blast!
Ten tons of snow might sound like a lot, but put a couple hundred kids and their parents in a 5 x 20 foot area and things are going to get a little crazy. Obviously they tried to spread it out as best as they could, but put an entire neighborhood in a really smal space and things are going to get a little testy.
Snow balls were flying everywhere. Trying to take pictures, minding my own business, I got hit several times with snowballs. The worst culprits? The dads! They were having way too much fun and really didn’t care who they were hitting as long as they were hitting someone. Kids of all shapes and sizes were crying from being hit in the face. Concerned mothers tried to soothe and dry their children’s faces while the dads continued to lob snowballs high in the air.
When it comes to things like this, I am very much a girl. I am much too precious to be hit by a flying ball of ice. And you want to really piss me off? Hit my babies with that frozen ball of death.
This was the Monkey’s first real experience with snow (he was a little baby the last time he was around snow.) I didn’t want him to hate it, killing our options of ever going snow skiing. Luckily, he learned quickly to hold his own and I learned to get out of the way and let them have their Snow Day fun.
“What the hell is this stuff?”
“Oh, I get it. You’re supposed to throw it at Mommy!”
(please notice the dads in the top of this photo…yeah, they really need to grow up and let the kids have their fun, but from the smile on my child’s face, it doesn’t seem to be bothering him.)
Don’t you love the green grass growing up through the “snow.” It’s a winter wonderland in southern California.
After the snow ball fight, we headed over to the two inflated bouncers for a little high jumping fun, listened to the traveling carolers serenading the chaos, and enjoyed some hot cocoa and cookies. The big guys himself was there with his wife, but we opted out of sitting on his knee seeing as we had just done that the day before.
I did think it was nice that he showed up considering how busy he is this time of year. I told the boys that he was the one that brought the snow. Snow fresh from the North Pole is oh so magical, don’t you think?
I’ve got to admit, it was a fun morning. I could have done without the snowballs in the face, but that’s just part of the whole experience. Next time I’ll know to put down my camera and pick up a ball of shaved ice instead.