SNOW MINE

It's been difficult to explain to the little angel this weekend that no one can own snow.  I tried a few different methods, but it was sort of like the Native Americans trying to explain to the Europeans that no one can really own land.  "Oh, yes they can," said the Pilgrims, and well, it stuck.  So this is an age-old problem.

Yesterday the little angel and I bundled up and ventured out for her first real walking snow experience.  First, I put her in the toddler sled and strapped her in, as a good parent should.  I started pulling her around through foot-deep snow, and about three seconds in, she shifted and the whole thing went over.  Unfortunately, she was strapped in with a noggin full of snow.  It was about nineteen degrees out at the time, and the very Sirens could not have screamed louder than she did.  Of course, once I stopped laughing, I felt terrible.  We went in, gathered ourselves, then went back out. After that I stuck to pulling her around on the driveway and other packed surfaces.

Today, it was considerably warmer.  All of the snow on the flat surfaces had melted, and my beloved was with me this time, so we took turns letting her sled down the little incline in our front yard.  She thought this was grand.  Then we decided to make a snowman.  After much discussion, we found a way to wedge rocks into eyes and a mouth.  "Happy!" said the little angel.  She sat down in the snow and pointed to it.  "MINE," she decided.

This "mine" thing just started in earnest this week, when she got into a fight at the Emerald City with Baby M. over a doll she was trying to feed fake Kool-Aid.  "MINE!" she howled, pushing him away.  To be fair, Baby M. has some control issues himself, but still.  Last night she decided the regular telephone was "MINE," though I disagreed.  She only pays, like, twenty percent of the phone bill.

Today at lunch, I tried to give her peas. She's been on a hunger strike since this last cold set in.  She refuses to stop until Saddam commits to being tried in Iraq without kicking up such a fuss.  I tried to reason with her about this, but considering the tribunal isn't having much luck with old "hey, glasses, don't you recognise your former dictator?" I didn't think I would get very far.  She started throwing the peas on the floor, so I grabbed the bowl before she could upend the whole thing.  "NYOOOO!"  she howled.  "MIIIIINNNNNNNEEEEE!" 

I decided lunch was over.  We went upstairs.  She drank some milk so she wouldn't actually starve to death and passed out about halfway through, snuggled into my chest.  Her breathing is getting clearer, so she doesn't sound quite so much like a wild hog while sleeping.  Just before I put her in her crib, I gave her a tight squeeze. 

"Mine," I said.