I was unequivocally born in the wrong part of this country. I have very little love for anything extreme in terms of temperature and have perfected the fine art of complaining about the weather–as is the wont and right of every New Englander–at least 340 days a year. I love Newport–the smell of the ocean, the feeling of home. But I do not love the snow, the ice, the wind, the bitter cold.
And yet I have two children who seem drawn to the outdoors no matter what the conditions, but especially when there is snow (or its crunchy, sharp, icy iteration) on the ground.
So, alas, despite my horror at any suggestion that we go outside and bask in Mother Nature’s frigid debacle, we went outside on Sunday morning.
And, yes, it was worth it.
And as if these faces weren’t reward enough, there was hot chocolate to be had when we came back in!