Oh my god. I hate snow.

Here we are in beautiful Tahoe City, in a giant 4 bedroom house that my sister in law rents every year. We've been up here once before, some Thanksgiving when Child 1 was a toddler. I was pregnant and really dizzy from the altitude the whole time so my memories of this place were not good to begin with. The drive up here was uneventful, until the last 300 yards, when we encountered an icy uphill final stretch and couldn't make it, in the giant van with front wheel drive. We had to get out and put on the chains and the whole process took about an hour, after we had already been driving for about 5 hours. Luckily it was warm in the car and we had a DVD player and Finding Nemo.

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-FUNNY STORY INTERLUDE-

We stopped for gas in the little town of Auburn, California, and while there I went into the local Starbucks, and I swear this place was like fucking Cheers. Every time somebody walked in, everybody who worked there would shout "FRANK!! FRANK'S HERE! HI FRANK!" and the same when they left. It was, without question, the greatest Starbucks I have ever been in. They got my name, too, and shouted a cheery goodbye to me as I left with my mocha and tea for my mother in law. Love that place.

-END OF FUNNY STORY INTERLUDE-

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Okay, so first, let me start by saying that I was born in Los Angeles. I then lived in Santa Barbara for 10 years. I then moved to the SF Bay Area, about 13 years ago. I've experienced snow maybe 3 times in my life, this trip included. We came up to this area last winter and it was fun, the boys discovered sledding and I discovered falling in the snow, but it was still fun. I was also in much better shape last year than I am now (mental note: in the future, work out a lot before coming to the snow). I also discovered my hatred of snow last year, but last year we went at the end of the season and it was really more ice than snow, so I'm not sure if that counts as actually experiencing it.

Right now, however, it's fresh. And powdery, I guess you call it. And it's crunchy. And it's fucking everywhere. Right in the backyard of the house is a kind of hill that you can use for sledding, so the boys and their cousin and their grandmother (my MIL) went out to frolic. Child 2 is a natural, last year he took to it like a fucking polar bear (or, some sort of animal that lives in snow, I don't know. An arctic rabbit, maybe?) and this year is no exception; he attacked the mountain with his usual enthusiasm. Here is some of his handiwork:

If you think you're looking at a sled full of snowballs, you would be correct. This is a sled full of snowballs.

Child 1 is good with the idea in theory, but in practice I think he's a little let down. He has trouble with the concept that if you point your sled towards a tree, you're going to sled into a tree; and that's bad. So there's always a lot of "NO! Don't go that way" and "STOOOOOOOOOPPPP!!!!!" But, he keeps insisting on doing it again and again. He likes the sledding part, but he also likes just sitting on the sled and hanging out, which I'm okay with. Until he starts tasting the snow, which he sometimes does.

Just chillin. Literally.

At one point, however, he decided that he wanted to carry his narrow ass all the way up to the top of the hill and sled down. Except, once he got there, he couldn't get any momentum going and he just sat. My MIL was up there and tried to help but he wouldn't allow her to touch him or the sled. He wanted me, thank you, autism! So, I started carrying MY ass all the way up to the top of the hill, except with every step my foot would shoot down about a foot into the snow and I would end up with snow up to my fucking knee. And then when I would try to climb out of my newly formed crater, my other foot would shoot 2 feet into the ground. I had to crawl my way out of these giant holes I had created, with my arms and elbows, and when I got out, my shoes and socks and pants and sleeves were full of the stuff. But I had to keep going, to get to the top, and the process would just repeat itself. Step. FALL. Step. FALL. Crawl, crawl, crawl. Fuck. Step. FALL. Step. FALL. etc.

I finally got to the top and Child 1 decided he didn't want me to push him, after all. I was like "fuck that, you're going" and I gave him a shove. He didn't go very far because the trail was now full of giant craters and it's hard to sled down a hill full of giant craters. So, he got off his sled and said "I'm going over there, instead" and started walking toward a hill that, if he were to sled down it, would lead him directly into the side of the house. My MIL started yelling at him not to sled directly into the house, while he said "but I want to go down this way" and at that point I was like, fuck it. I'm outta here. I loudly announce "I'M GOING INSIDE" and I step, fall, step, fall, crawl crawl crawl my way back down the hill and back into the house, leaving my MIL in charge.

Now I'm inside and I refuse to go back out there. Snow fucking SUCKS! Hubs has taken the boys out again and has graciously agreed to let me stay behind. He says it's too early to start drinking, though (it's 2:30pm). But... he's not here right now, is he?

UPDATE (the next day):

Okay. Fine. I guess it's kinda of pretty. Whatever.

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