Snowed...The Blizzard of '09

Snow in DC puts homeowners through a set of stages, much like those associated with grief. There's disbelief that it will happen. Because 9 times out of 10 it doesn't. There's panic (we mock all those people rushing to buy TP and milk, but with a baby in the house, not having milk is suddenly a major worry). Paul took my car to Whole Foods to get said milk and sideswiped a concrete pillar. Let's just say he'll be making the call to State Farm, not me.

Eventually you wind your way to the anticipation and hard-to-suppress excitement stage. On Saturday morning, as I pulled Harry's shades, there it was, at least 6 inches of glorious, fluffy snow. He was ready to throw himself out the door without so much as a diaper.

We had pancakes, we talked big about the snowman we would make and the snow forts we would build and the amazing two days we would all enjoy under the cover of snow -- the kind of snow we won't like see here again for years. But this mom -- having not had a smidgen of snow here for two years -- simply did not prepare. Sure, Charlotte had a snowsuit, passed down from Harry, and Harry has all kinds of warm snow jackets and hats and mittens, Just enough to keep him toasty to and from school and on the playground.

But while every other sane parent was Fedexing clothes in from L.L. Bean on Friday or running to the mall in search of the last pair of toddler boots and sleds, I was still in the disbelief stage. So, come the weekend, poor Harry had no snow pants, no proper boots and no comfort in the snow.

Jeans get soggy. Woolen mittens go limp and frosty, rain boots are useless once they're packed with snow and this mom feels the total failure, because as a result, he just didn't love it as much as he should have. Paul and I of course loved it. Charlotte seemed to think it was wonderful (Paul built a snow fort (it really rocks), we constructed an awesome snowman complete with Santa hat and candy canes in each hands, but the chillier Harry got, the more he wanted to go back inside. So off we'd trudge, peeling off our own ski clothes and Charlotte's massive head-to-toe bunting and Harry's inadequate layers. A half hour later, he'd insist on going back outside. And the cycle would repeat, sometimes ending in tears, which are pretty hard to fathom out in a winter playland.

Paul has the day off (Federal snow day) and he and Harry are headed out to the sledding hill. And I've (ugh), broken out the Hannah Andersson snow pants in HOT pink that were a hand-me-down for Charlotte and sadly are Harry's perfect size (did I say ugh?? UGH!!), we've borrowed way-too-big boots from the neighbors and some better gloves. Such a happy time and I just feel so awful. Awful awful awful.

Perhaps we'll experience a day-long eclipse of the sun and no one on the sledding hill will see Harry's paisley-pink ensemble. I'm sorry baby. Mommy has taken out the credit card and spent an extra $21 on rush shipping. You bet I did.