Snowstorm. Of the Century.

Well, it wasn't really that bad, but we did get about 14 inches of snow this weekend. But we're upper midwesterners, so it's in our blood to poo-poo any kind of inclement weather. It was bad enough that on Sunday morning our neighbor got stuck in the driveway.

We suffered one casualty- our snowman Thomas was buried alive. It was a devastating discovery, because it happened right next to the front door. If only his short little day-glo plastic arms were long enough to reach the doorbell. If only mom and dad hadn't spent the entire snowstorm drinking wine trying to convince each other it was the only way to winter the storm.

Mom and I went outside to play in the snow. I rode in the sled and mom pulled me. Nothing was plowed so mom thought it would be fun (and good exercise) too pull me around the park and the woods. I had alot of fun, because it was warm and I didn't have to touch the snow, but about a half mile from home, mom started grumbling about the snowdrifts that were higher than her knees and how we'd be lucky if anyone found us if she had a heart attack right there. Quit your belly-aching mom and move faster!

Dad did not brave the elements, but did muster up enough courage to take our picture through a closed deck door.

I spent the rest of the afternoon stomping mud puddles in the garage while mom wondered exactly why she pays $4,000 in city taxes a year if the city doesn't plow our street until 2pm and condo fees every month for no one to plow our driveway until 4pm. (It's best not to disturb her when she gets on these tangents.)