When the kids went out to play in the snow last week, I went outside with the purpose of putting a few things away in the garage and getting things ready for spring. I had no intention of building a snowman. If the kids wanted to build one, they could handle it themselves.
After getting the bird feeders filled and a few deck chairs out, Sweet Pea came to show me what she had done. When I went to the front yard I saw a snowball which was bigger than SP.
"Did you do that yourself?", I asked.
"Yeah, can you help me with the rest?", she pleaded.
Since she had gotten off to such a good start, I couldn't resist.
I rolled her snowball to a suitable spot in the center of the yard. That added added a another two or three layers to the already chubby snowman.
Number One Son was also helping. He had rolled another ball to be the middle of the snowman. His snowball was dangerously approaching the girth of our first snowball. So I warned him not to roll it anymore. Unfortunately, he stopped rolling it about ten yards away from our base. So, once again, I had to roll another snowball over to the middle of our yard. Once it reached the base, I was confounded by the age old snowman problem of building a snowman middle that was too heavy to lift onto the base. I tried once or twice to lift it with very little success. So, with a hernia looming, I was forced to resort to getting a board from the wood pile and sliding the middle snowball up a ramp to its final resting place.
Lastly, the head went on with no problem, as I had just enough strength left.
As the kids packed snow onto the snowman's love handle creases for stability, SP made the observation that our snowman stunk.
"What do you mean, 'It stinks". I think we did a good job.", I inquired.
"I mean, it's all covered in poop.", she answered.
Since the snow was extra wet and sticky, our efforts had rolled up all of the dog and rabbit poop in the yard. So we had to cover those spots up with clean snow.
Once our creation was complete, SP decided to make a snow puppy to stand next to our snowman.
This week, however, our snowman is looking a little worse for wear. His puppy must have run away, and he has certainly let himself go. And just like all of us who get older, his face was the first thing to go. I will probably find his face this spring when the mower tries to chew up the rocks we used.