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All day it snowed.

There was wide, pretty, flaky snow.

There was tiny, sharp, scary snow.

There was wind full of snow blown off rooftops. The jury is still out on whether it went down through the chimney with Good Saint Nick.

But it's agreed that everywhere there was snow.

We didn't leave the house all day. I used my mother's garage elliptical machine instead of running. We played Scrabble and watched the drifts on the porch take deep breaths. My parents watched Bucky, their backyard beaver statue, gradually withdraw into snow. "Look," said my mother, "he looks like he's going into a cave.""

It's still snowing. 

We're still here.

All day, Baby J explored his new world. He discovered, among other things, that Freckles is, in addition to being hilarious, fun to imitate. When Freckles ate an apple, Baby J ate an apple. Finally, Freckles cut a wedge from his apple and alternated between eating it himself and letting Baby J suck on it.

The cold weather seems to agree with his appetite -- he has probably eaten half a pumpkin today alone.

On the weather, they keep telling us about snow, and we keep telling each other we're fine with staying indoors.

When an ad came on during the local news, a man holding a kangaroo suggested we buy cars from Bruce Chevrolet. Another ad featured a brunette with a slight accent, who claimed that when her girlfriend got a new bathroom, she wanted one too -- but her husband said it was too much work.

So she advocated getting a new tub to fit over the old one, like a cover.

Freckles and I imagined an ever shrinking house, growing exponentially smaller, until one day, perfection was achieved... and it was impossible to fit through the door to the bathroom.