In winter, we are always counting. Six snowstorms, two with ice, four without. Two nights without power; three days without school. One early dismissal; one delay. Two pairs of snow pants, one purple, one black (never worn); three pairs of mittens. Five mornings spent shoveling; two trips to the town garage for sand. Six hats, none of them quite right. One canceled birthday party, forty guests for breakfast on Christmas Eve. Three colds; one blister pack of antibiotics; four bottles of Elderberry Syrup; sixteen boxes of Kleenex. Three batches of chocolate chip cookies, one botched attempt at homemade pudding (too much cornstarch, not enough heat); one divine lamb stew brought by friends on a snowy Sunday night.
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