This here bringer of the pooper to the fun party

The first of who knows how many

Yesterday morning we woke up to a couple of inches of snow on the ground. Leta took off her glasses, rubbed her eyes to make sure she wasn’t seeing things, and then quickly put them back on her face.

“Is that… snow?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said flatly. “That is snow.”

“But… but…but it’s spring, Mom. This can’t happen.” Just this week she was able to switch from her rain/snow boots to regular tennis shoes when heading out the door to school. And now that luxury was gone.

“We live in Utah, Leta,” I explained. “This might continue to happen for another couple of months.”

She loudly groaned and then went through the motions of fixing herself breakfast.

I think I’m going to use that explanation for everything from now on. Why can’t she have ice cream after dinner? Because we live in Utah. Why does she have to practice piano AGAIN? Because we live in Utah. Why am I putting my head in the oven? And so on.

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