Most years, the dads in our little friend-family take the boys and hike back to a yurt for a man weekend. It’s there that they’ve learned how to choose teams, gang up on each other, and pretty much pummel each other with snowballs and then sit around and fart for the rest of the time.
Or something like that.
They tempered a bit since there were ladies this time, sans yurt and hiking in, but I think I got to see the big payoff.
To begin, we started the day by playing bunny dollhouse and digging into some waffles. Those are the leftovers. Might have overshot that one.
This was spied outside.
It was all downhill from here. No, really.
Our smallest fry learned the proper technique to make killer snowballs.
Note to self: never play snow wars with an ex-pitcher.
Snowflakes do stick to eyelashes. Love that.
Love him, too.
I wish I could say that no trees were harmed in the making of these photos.
That would be a lie.
There’s a Ewan in there. Look closely.
Charlie wins for the best photo finish faces, ever.
And I win for the loudest belly-holding laughs, ever.
Almost peed my snow pants.