The girls did some cross country skiing at Fuller Farm yesterday before having a snowshoeing adventure in the backyard with Fino. L.’s friend made a jump on the hill and L. thought it was really fun. Its great to see how at ease the girls are on their ‘skinny’ skis. Fino borrowed two pairs of snowshoes from his friend Amy and we had one pair of our own. Since I was feeling under-the-weather yesterday anyway, I opted out of the backyard adventure. I was crashed on the couch for about 30 minutes (two hours of skiing wiped me out) before G. came flying in to the house. “Mommy! Mommy! Daddy fell in the river!” (It’s actually a narrow stream about two feet deep at the most.) In my groggy, not quite functional state I asked, “Is he still stuck?” “Well no, but he says his foot is hurt.” “OK, but is he walking back home?” “Yeah he is but he says he can’t feel his foot. You have to help him!” G. watched me slowly pick myself off the couch (abdominal pain does not lend itself to fast movements) and decided I wasn’t going to be much help so she darted back outside again. A few minutes later Fino walked in the door just as I was reaching for my coat. His snowshoes and boots were covered in a thick layer of snow and ice and he was making the ooooh and aaaah sounds of someone in pain. “What happened?” I asked, still at little out of it. He recounted the events leading up to his icy tumble that included “joking around,” “teasing the girls,” “they warned me about the water but I didn’t listen to them” and “I jumped on the log without checking it out first.” Once he finished, my sympathy for his plight waned and I continued to watch him fumbling with the equipment straps while walking around on the hallway carpet. “Fino, you’re going to rip the carpet with those snowshoe spikes. Take those things off.” “I can’t get them off. My feet are frozen.” So I reached down and pulled off the snowshoe straps and his boots while the girls were twittering around him. “Mommy, will daddy’s feet be OK?” “Yes, his feet will be fine. Are you ever going to do what he did?” “No way mom.” “No, daddy didn’t make a good decision today.” As I ran warm water in the bathtub for Fino to soak he reddish/purplish feet, he summed up the incident. “Sorry mama, it was a guy thing.”