The kind that Laura Ingalls Wilder writes about in "Little House in the Prairie" with bitter winds, finger-numbing cold and mountains of snow (albeit without the luxuries of a central heating system or access to stimulating diversions like the grocery store and DirecTV).
Couped up inside our cozy rancher, I found myself deploying increasingly strange ways to occupy the girls.
Dressing up the pets …
|Delaney was not amused.|
|Note to self: The demobilizing quality of two kids in one pair |
of pants might make them useful for timeouts in the future.
And finally, venturing into the Pennsylvania tundra for a little extreme swinging ...
|Jovie was nearly asleep in this picture.|
Get them some mittens! Those poor stony paws!
|Looks like he got a silver in nut hoarding.**|
|Where's the Guinness?!|
Although, we were hit with a touch of Seasonal Confusion Disorder:
|The girls alternated between playing in the sandbox, romping in this leaf pile |
and scaling the remaining pile of snow in our yard.
|Suck it snow!|
* Ahem. Get your minds out of the gutter.
** See above.