Snowman Envy

What happens when you're 10 years old and, after building what you consider an awesome snowman, you look across the street and see this?

Well, if you're Taylor, you decide that another - larger - snowman must be built immediately in your backyard. Yours may not be quite as big but if you have two and they only have one, the score is even.

Or so I was told.

You also force your mother, who is trying to make homemade potato soup and bread for a cold evening meal, to don her slippers and grab her camera to take some grainy shots of you building said second snowman.

And you take you mother's Baylor jacket because you slid around in the snow earlier in the day, which required it to be immediately washed.

You roll the largest snowball you can possibly muster because you're "doing this one alone" and have the time of your life playing in the frigid snow. And your mother doesn't say a word because she knows this much snow only arrives in Waco, Texas, once in a great while.

The next morning you head out at first light to "decorate him" only to find that he (actually I should be referring to him by name - it's Bart; Marty was the first one she built) froze overnight and the only thing you can do to accessorize is add a couple of celery arms.

But it doesn't matter. Because you had the time of your life. And your mother has pictures to prove it.