How do you spell cold? Spending the weekend at a campground with windchills dipping to an estimated thirty degrees below zero. Yeah, that’s cold. Fortunately the husband had gone up in advance to get some sledding in and, due to his weather-savvy Spidey-sense, nabbed the cabin before any of the other families arrived. While our campers are all heated, they’re still campers. (The walk to the bathroom? OMG. When you’ve gotta pee and you’re getting slapped in the face by -30, brisk doesn’t even begin to describe your pace.)
When we arrived Friday night, it was still a balmy ten degrees or so, so we all gathered around the campfire:
Saturday morning dawned a bit on the windy side, though it was a tropical breeze compared to what was coming that evening. The Tall Kid donned the husband’s “A” sledding gear and the husband wore his backup gear and they braved the chill to go on the group ride.
Where’s there’s snow, there are snowbanks. And where there are snowbanks, there’s testosterone. Mass donuts and snowbank jumping ensued. Here’s the husband jumping my Rincon:
Where were the Short Kid and I during all of this? In the cabin ’cause we’re not stupid. I worked rather diligently, I must say, on DG3, and what did the Short Kid do? Absconded with my iPod Touch and addicted himself to Word Warp. I’m going to have to put an alarm on that thing.
This morning brought a “nice” day (only 15 degrees, but the wind was down to a manageable mph), so the husband took the Short Kid on his very first snowmobile ride:
And here’s a close-up of the sled’s vanity registration decal, which the kids and I are very proud of. We LOL’d Dad’s sled!