My sister-in-law and son, this past Sunday, built a killer snowman. As I watched from the warmth of the living room, through the large plate-glass sliding doors, I couldn’t help but be amazed at the quality of snow falling from the Belgian sky. Don’t be mad at me though. I fell off my bike last week and was nursing a bum knee (a likely story).

I honestly thought that my snowman-building days (or at least watching others build snowmen) were over once I moved to Belgium last winter. I honestly thought that good quality snow for snowman-making was something we could only look forward to on our winter trips back to the US.

Pleasantly surprised is an understatement. I grew up playing in the snow — red fingers, icy feet, runny nose — so to see my son (who is 3) out there braving the wilds of nature to roll some frozen water around the yard was great.

Kudos to his aunt who did all the real work. She was the muscle behind it all. But I must say it took quite a bit of coaxing for her to create a 3-balled snowman; she was happy to make a short, fat two-baller. In the end, Mr. Dingledobe (ok, I just made up that name now) had 3 parts, a carrot nose, walnut eyes and buttons, and two sticks for arms.

I’ll post pictures as soon as they become available!

Literally.

I was at a friend’s house working on the computer. My son was in the other room crying a bit. So I leaned over to see him… a bit more… a bit more…

POW! BAM!

Holy cow. I fell off the chair. (My wife would be keen to remind me at this point that cows aren’t holy!)