Snow babies

The snow came.

There were those who said it never would.

December flew by in a rainy blur. January was a brown landscape of wilted Christmas trees on curbsides.

Down the primrose path. 

Then last weekend the sky finally went to pieces.

Now by 'snow' I am referring to an an old Saxon word that means: a modest dusting. Any more would be showing off, and a dusting is all it takes to shut down Heathrow.

We did the only sensible thing given the situation. We took a sled to Primrose Hill.

Four runs down the hill with no broken bones seemed like enough in the luck-pushing department.

So Ali and I scoured the neighbourhood for mama and papa snowmen. I was instructed to assemble approximately ten baby snowmen for each parental unit.

New fallen snow.

Like giraffes, snow parents can be a bit blasé and sometimes need reminding that the moment of reunion with their snow spawn is cause for celebration.

Now comes the part where snow turns to sludge. The sleepy Heathrow dragon grumbles back to life, and naysayers seasonally progress to maligning the Easter Bunny.

Sledges return to closets, where they dream quietly of gleaming white landscapes, never losing faith.

8: White

This is the 8th day of Advent photos and my first submission to The Gallery (a lovely idea, thank you Sticky Fingers).

Two years BC (before children), Papa and I took a road trip in Germany with Onkle and Tanta. We drove from an unusually snowy Berlin (my favourite city) to an icy Dresden, then onwards into Saxony-Switzerland and the whitest Christmas I can remember.

Pre-snowflakes. 

At one point we happened upon the most perfect, untouched field of snow this side of heaven. We couldn't leave it that way, so we jumped from the car and tore through it like a pack of rabble-rousing kids. I made so many snow angels that the back of my head grew numb. We played until we were cold and tired to the bone, then piled back in the car and reverted to adulthood.

Footprints in the snow.  

The snow that day was the lightest, freshest powder imaginable: the consistency of icing sugar and twice as delicious. When my kids make me feel old, just thinking about that snow makes me feel like a kid again.

6: Warm inside

Day 6 in the Advent photo calendar.

Winter warmer. 

Binge chocoholic.

Christmas patchwork

When I was a girl my family began December with an Advent calendar, as many do. But ours was special: a beautiful Christmas tree wall hanging made by my mum. Each year my sister, brother and I pulled treasures from the red felt pocket and snapped them into place on the tree: teddy bears, stockings, stars, snowflakes, angels—the flora and fauna of Christmas.

The given tree.  

Last week the postman brought us a special package from Grandma: a handmade Advent calendar, crafted in the style of the beloved one from my childhood. The girls tore through the wrapping, then spent the afternoon inspecting all the advent treasures in hushed, studious awe. Grandma has always been a talented quilter with an eye for detail. When I rang to thank her, she told me that it took her years to collect all the right buttons.

Adele of Mila's Daydreams has inspired me with her Advent photo calendar idea. So, although I am a little late starting this, I will post one of Grandma's charms each day for the rest of Advent, plus an accompanying wintertime picture.

The snowman is first up on the tree, followed by my favourite snow dude from last winter.

Buttons made of coal. 

Frosty the grillman. 

White pre-Christmas

Ana likes to sing 'Frosty the snowman was a jolly holiday'. In her mind Frosty and Mary Poppins, both heroes around these parts, are fused. I'm not sure why. Perhaps it's the hat.

Every morning for weeks now Ana has gone running to the window to watch expectantly and whisper 'it's snowiiiiiiiiing!' But it hasn't been. Until now. 

When frosty holds your hand, you feel so grand. 

Ana is in heaven. On our pre-school walks she takes huge bites from snowy hedges, shrieking 'just like chickeeeeen!' and 'tastes like puuuuuding!' Which makes me wonder if my cooking is really that gobsmackingly bland. But it also makes me warmly remember the spine-shiveringly delicious snow ice cream of my girlhood winters gone. Just a simple bowl of snow, splash of whole or condensed milk, dash of powdered sugar, cap of vanilla or sprinkle of nutmeg and voila: frosty magic. 

Snowgirl

I admit that when nobody's looking, I'm out there eating snow off the hedges too. Foolishly, both Ana and her childish mama are desperately hoping for a desperately snowy winter, just like the last one. 

Photographing snow: a fool's wonderland.