A Little Taste Of Winter In Spring

---And of course by "little taste" I really mean the opposite. We got at least 18 inches of wet spring snow dumped on us last week! The "little taste" also refers to Tommy's culinary adventures in the backyard as he rolled around in and ate snow non-stop for a solid hour.

Friday morning began with a snowstorm. A biggie. Usually our snow is of the "champagne" variety, all snowball-unsuitable glittery dust. But this was a very wet snow, complete with flakes the size of half-dollars coming down for hours and hours. It was gorgeous. I still think I would have preferred the trees having an opportunity to bloom this season instead of all the buds being frosted off, but get a load of me--making hot cocoa out of lemons!

Late in the day Saturday the snow finally slowed enough to allow the kids to go out back and play. It was getting dark. My photos are dark. The kids didn't mind.

This is all Tommy did the whole time he was out in the snow. That boy was soaking wet (not to mention very hydrated) by the time he came in, crying, with chapped cheeks and freezing fingers. Kids.
Josie and Jon were able to build an actual snowman. What fun!

I'm ready to be done with snow, but who knows, we've been known to have a blizzard or two all the way through the beginning of May. At least the snow disappears quickly this time of year. (Do you like my positive tone? Are you missing the little hints of sarcastic snark? Me too. I guess some days I just don't bring my A game...but not all hope is lost. Tonight is Pack Meeting!)

You Win Some, You Lose Some, and Sometimes You Run Away Crying, Barricading Yourself in a Bathroom Stall.

I am not going to pretend that this year's Pine Wood Derby (or Dirty, according to Tommy) was a success, or that it was even remotely fun, or that we didn't have a horrible time, because you know what? It was horrible. We hated it. Every one of us. There were several reasons why Friday night was so excruciating, and most of them were our own fault.

First of all, we were late. And we hadn't weighed in on Tuesday night--like we were supposed to--mainly because on Tuesday night Calvin's car was still in MIB (mint in the box) condition. Never been opened. But we at least had a name to submit. Twinkie.

We were late to the Derby, but that didn't seem to matter because the races began a FULL hour late. Probably due to people like us showing up late and unprepared. Tommy decided to go business cazh for the Derby, complementing his jeans and Health Tex shirt with a sweet clip on. Too bad no one was able to find shoes for him before we left the house.

Calvin, presenting the "Twinkie" to the eager crowd.

See? It looks just like a Twinkie, but it's really just the standard block of wood with all the corners sanded off and the whole thing bathed in well over 3 coats of yellow paint. Pretty clever, huh? (Curtis Whittier, looking on)

Calvin and friends, before his wee heart was broken.

Josie, sweaty and red-faced from running laps around the outside of the Cultural Hall. "Running around" is the compulsory portion of any activity that is held in the Cultural Hall.

Jon, enjoying cheering for others. Okay, so we didn't hate every single minute. But we did hate the majority of minutes.

Josie, flashing gang signs while Jenn looks on. I love Jenn. I am her assistant. Together we make up the crack team of superhero leaders who host the Bears every week, providing caring, enthusiastic, appropriate Cub Scout leadership--plus a gluten-free-chocolate-free-nut-free snack.

And then everything started to go wrong.....

Remember last year? Dietetic Lunch? The boy who came in last and couldn't have cared less about speed or aerodynamics or WINNING? Remember that boy? Well, it would have been nice if someone could have warned us that that boy was long gone. Because the boy who showed up Friday night most certainly cared about winning. Which was unfortunate because the car I built for him was not built for speed.

Oh yes, didn't I tell you? I was completely responsible for the Twinkie. I sanded it, painted it, accused Pie of not helping me with it...I was the (resentful) Little Red Hen of the Derby and I was not happy about it. Busy Dad+lack of communication=lame car and sad little Scout. At least no one accused me of giving Calvin an unfair advantage by building the car for him.

I was busily employed with my friends--also scout leaders--as we began the arduous yet indispensable task of assigning "winning" certificates to each participant. Most unusual name? Check. Best use of decals? Check. Car most obviously done by Dad and not Scout? Double check. It was after a few heats that Calvin approached me, with tears streaming down his little face, and said he wanted to quit because his car was the slowest and it was dumb. And then he ran off to the bathroom. I turned to my friends and asked, Do we have a certificate for the Worst Sportsmanship?

I felt bad for Calvin, I really did. But I also felt bad for me. Sure my effort was lame, but must I remind you that I am allergic to wood? Also, my neck was killing me the whole day, so I felt like I couldn't give it my best effort. And I hadn't even had dinner, because I ate too many Lemon Whippersnappers after school with the kids and we ruined our appetites. I made the cookies after school for the kids (even though my neck hurt!) because I had just learned this shocking information from Jenn: There would be no refreshments at the Derby. I'm sorry, WHAT? No refreshments! Who would dare suggest such blasphemy? Participating in the Pine Wood Derby is just like giving blood--YOU DESERVE A COOKIE AT THE END FOR YOUR SELFLESS ACT OF SERVICE. So here we are, 1 1/2 hours in, no dinner, crying child hiding in the bathroom, other children running all over creation, neck pain (did I mention that already?), and NO COOKIES. Do we have a certificate for most indulgent whining?

After what seemed like an eternity to everyone--my heart goes out to the other leaders who worked and worked to finally bring the evening to a merciful end--we were on our way home, first stopping at Wendy's for a little dinner. At 9:30 we sat around our table eating from the bounty of the 99 cent menu and reflecting on the night's activities and the blessed realization that the next Derby woouldn't come for at least a year. Unfortunately we will have two scouts in the Derby by then.....