snow forts
When I was shoveling the other day I noticed how perfect the snow was for packing and so I asked Monica to join me out in the back yard to create a snow fort. We worked on it for quite awhile and Monica even made this hidden snowball container complete with a perfect hole at the top for easy snowball retrieving. There is nothing like sitting in the cold snow, shaping and patting snow into a fort to send you straight back to childhood. When I was young, I lived on a dead end street and the plows would often use the end of this street as a place to dump mountains of snowfall. By mid February we always had the best hill in the world for playing King of the Castle on and we would also tunnel through this mountain and make hidden alcoves inside of it. Now I realize how dangerous that could have been if one of those tunnels had ever caved in while we were huddled somewhere in the centre of the mountain or if the snow plow came by to dump more snow or push the mountain further back but because we were kids it never crossed our minds. All I remember is that we spent a lot of time on or in that mountain of snow or getting flung down it by one of the stronger boys in the neighbourhood who would usually dominate as the King until we would get smart enough and gather at the bottom to conspire and then rush up at him all together to bring him down off his mighty throne.
Anyway, it was a lot of fun building a fort with Monica. We had stacked plenty of snowballs and had a plan to call Greg out into the yard when he got home that evening to show him the fort and when he would get close enough we would run for our arsenal and started firing them at him. But it just so happened that he worked late that evening so it didn’t happen.
I am afraid that Erin has passed the snow fort building stage. Well, that might not be it. It is more like she has entered the “It is far from cool to do anything with your mother stage.” She is also in the middle of OH MY GOSH everything is a crisis stage – hair, jeans, shirts, homework, younger sister, school, friends – and what more she has fine tuned sarcasm into an art form. I need to bite my lip sometimes and remember it isn’t easy being twelve. Sometimes I wish they would stay young and at other times I get excited seeing a glimpse of the women they will be.
O.K. need to stop writing because I am behind in many things – I need to stain some wood and my ideas for possible short stories are beginning to fill up my little black notebook and I really want to get a few more fixed up and out the door. Which reminds me – no not really, I actually wanted to start my post with this but didn’t know how– one of my stories was accepted by a fantasy magazine. I am very happy.
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