Scribbles

Snow Day Commish



Not long ago, we had a snow day. 

Along with the rest of the country. 

But see, we live in northern Minnesota. 

So we’re used to a little snow.  I mean, it snows nearly every day.  We have all snowmobiles.  Dogsledders live in my backyard.  Everyone had as plow attachment on the front of their four-wheel drive trucks. 

Snow is not a big deal.  (Sorry Tulsa.  And Dallas.  But to make you feel better, we melt when it gets to 70.  Seriously.  It’s not pretty). 

So, I’m not sure WHOSE bright idea it was to call a snow day.  I mean, no one asked my opinion.  

It started out well.  My middle linebacker decided he would be industrious and build a snow cave.  Being a Warren, he never does anything small.  One year he built a two chamber cave so deep it needed a doorbell.  (those sticks are the handles of a post hole digger.  We have all sorts of snow cave accessories at our house).

 

My daughter, not to be outdone, decided she would help.  I had to describe what a shovel looked like, and she rooted around in the garage until she found one.

 

Not that there weren’t already enough implements on hand.
 
 



“Hey Pete! I found this cool thing-a-ma-bob.  Maybe it’ll help!”



“Don’t just stand there, help me shovel!”
 


“Shovel?  Like this?”

“Whoa, this is hard work.”

 

“But wow, I have some killer muscles!”

 

Snow Cave Kings. 

So, after a while, I wonder how they’re doing.  So I wander downstairs.  Call outside.  Nothing.  Worry a little that they’ve been crushed under the snow.  Decide to don my parka and hike out to the scene of the crime.

I am pulling on my Uggies when I hear laughter. 

Hmm….



 


“Hey mom.  It’s a snow day.” 

  

I see that. 

I’m just sayin’ that I think I need to be the Snow Day Commish.  Because I’m thinking there might be a few mothers out there willing to haul out the SUV, put on the 4WD and drag these bums to school.  

Whatever it takes. 

Off to go hide in the snow cave….

Super Bowl 2011

Warrens like football. 

A lot. 

And we had the privilege of hanging out with our boys’ football coach for the big game.  We didn’t have money for jerseys…so we made our own. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As you can see, only ONE of us was smart enough to vote for the Packers.  In fact, at the party, there were only 2 packers fan.  Me.  And Carl. 

Go Carl.

 

There might have been some tension during the game.

Mostly because…the Warren family Football Trophy was on the line. 

 

Guess who won?

See, it’s not just about winning the big game…you have to accumulate the most points throughout the ENTIRE SEASON.  And the best stats during the playoffs.

Some people are just really sore losers.

 

Let this be a lesson to you, Warren Children. 

You got your football genes from me. 

(And, you’ll never get this trophy…mmmwwwhhhaaaa!)

Goodbye Football. See you next year.

Susie The Scrambler May