I may be good at weaving words and building books, but I’m dead-awful with snowmen.
Over the weekend, we drove up to the mountains to look for snow. We found some at Pinecrest Lake. My son scraped together this little guy from the soft snow underneath the melt-then-freeze crust that covered the lakeshore. My husband added the pebble eyes. We took family portraits and looked for suitable arms.
But when I went in for a close up shot of our newest family member, his left eye fell out. And when I tried to put it back, I knocked his whole head off. My son gave me that puppy-whimper–you know, the one that translates as “what kind of mother are you?” or “how can you be so cruel to snow children?” or even “murderer!”
I never got the shot, but my husband did. Picking up one of Mini Man’s segments (the torso?), he lobbed it at my son. My son then lobbed Mini Man’s head in retaliation. They then played catch with Mini Man’s nether region until it was nothing but dust.
Guess that means I’m acquitted.