So, even though it is now officially Spring, Mother Nature continues to tease the East Coast by not getting herself all warmed up and bringing on the nice weather.
In fact, we've still has small sprinklings of snow just about every week. We were SUPPOSED to get a snowstorm YESTERDAY, for Jumping Jupiter's sake!
Thankfully, the reported snowstorm yesterday turned out to be no more than rain all day. Don't get me wrong..... rain sucks. Every time i let the dog out to do his business when it's raining, i am treated to the equivilent of a wet, dirty sponge running through the house when he comes back in. Not fun at all. BUUUUT, better THAT than more snow.
Anyway, over the weekend, when we heard of the possible storm, Mini-Me ran up to me with excitment in his eyes, proclaiming "Daddy! This is awesome! Maybe we can go sledding tomorrow!"
And i agree, that WOULD indeed be awesome, if it wasn't for ONE niggling detail which has dawned upon me over the last few years....
I fucking HATE sledding.
Seriously, i can't fucking stand it.
Yeah, the IDEA of sledding sounds GREAT on paper...... sliding down a hill at breakneck speeds on a hill of soft cotton sure SOUNDS swell!
The problem is, the reality never seems to match the expectation.
I took Mini-Me sledding a month ago, after our last Blizzard. Here's the recap:
First, I had to bundle both he and myself up with enough layers on to look like the Stay-Puff Marshmellow Man. By the time i get his gloves and boots on (a Herculean task, let me assure you), I've already had about as much fun as i'm going to be having for the day.
Then, we hustle ourselves to the nearest hill. Long Island is not KNOWN for their hills. Everybody and their grandma always tells me "I've got the best hill for sledding!", but their grandma can go eat me. Like Charley Brown running to kick the football, I haul my ass out to where they tell me to go, only to find yet another shitty little hill that has so many little bastards traipsing up and down it that by the time we get there it's more mud than snow.
But, since i want to hold on to my Daddy of the Year trophy, we always soldier on.
By the time we climb the hill, Mini-Me is huffing and puffing. I'm in perfect shape so I'm good, but i can see how others less sculpted as myself might get winded. I sit Mini-Me on his sled, give him a shove, and about one thousandths of a second later, he's at the bottom looking up at me with a "What the fuck? That's it?" face.
Then, i have to walk like Bigfoot in one of those old home movies from the 70's, back DOWN the damn mountain because my precious cherub can't manage walking back up on his own while holding on to the sled.
Then I half-drag him back UP the mountain to repeat the process.
It usually takes about four trips up and down the mountain before the two of us look at each other and say simultaneously, "Are we done here?"
Then we hoof it back to the car, and when i get home i throw the sled back in the shed, vowing to never bother to do this again.
Until the next year, that is, when without fail I will hear the call of ""Daddy! This is awesome! Maybe we can go sledding tomorrow!"