My parents got a little over two feet of snow last weekend when the big blizzard of 2009 hit the east end of Long Island. My sister and I spent Christmas afternoon outside on the front hill of our house taking advantage before it all melted away. It reminded me of snow days as a child when my mother would get us all bundled up and push out the door and we’d spend hours and hours dragging sleds up the hill only to jump on them and whoosh all the way back down to the street. The only thing missing were the neighborhood girls who used to join us, all grown up now, and most of them moved away.

Not much has changed since I was a kid in terms of how I feel about the snow. I love it and get very excited to play in it but then I realize it’s cold and wet and I don’t have any physical coordination. This basically means that I spend most of my time on my ass, like this:

Or this:

But I do not give up. And that is what makes me awesome. Or…very, very stupid.

My sister is much more athletic than I am and decided to snowboard down the hill because she is BADASS. Of course, after I saw her do it, I was aching to try but I knew full well that it could only end with a broken ankle, broken wrist, or both. And HAI! I HAV NO HEALTH INSURINZ. I made my sister promise that if I broke a bone, she would help me set it. She gently explained that even though she just finished her first semester at chiropractic school, she wasn’t exactly well-versed in fractured tibias. I was all, OH PLEASE, FIGURE IT OUT. IT CAN’T BE THAT HARD.

Luckily, I was not injured. But that’s really only because I was on my feet for about two seconds and spent the rest of the time flat on my back wailing for help, screaming that my FEET WERE STUCK TO THE BOARD while my sister was all THAT’S THE WAY IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE while I screamed back that SNOWBOARDING SUCKKKKKS! I CAN’T MOVE MAH LEGGGGGGGGS!

Debbie tried to help me. But as soon as she’d stand me back up, I would fall flat on my back again like a turtle on its shell.

I eventually gave up and spent the rest of the time doing safer things like screaming my ass off on a regular sled made of plastic as if I was being tortured to death. I’m not sure where I get this from, this insane urge to yell at something as benign as sledding down a fairly small hill. I believe it comes from my father who we once took on his first upside down roller coaster on a family vacation to Hershey Park. My father was sitting behind me on the ride and screamed the entire way, even though he was enjoying himself immensely. WOAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

I do the same in the car when he takes a wide turn. I’m guessing it must be genetic.

My sister just stiffens herself like a cadaver and makes the most amazing faces I have ever seen.

We had a most lovely Christmas afternoon, sledding and throwing snowballs at my mom and making snow angels. A most happy holiday, a most merry of Christmases.