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The Great Snowsuit Debacle of ’20: An excerpt from Memoirs of a Toddler


I remember it as if it were yesterday. Because it was exactly yesterday! The first storm of the winter had blanketed our yard with an irresistible, undulating pillow of white. Did I wanna build a snowman? You bet I did wanna!


She Who Should Never Have Been Born Much Less Named, aka The Usurper, aka The Blob was already strapped to Mother’s body. A place of honor, that, up until 4 months ago, I had occupied. But you are a Big Sister now, Paisley, so get over it.

Anyway, Mother was beginning to sing the Snowsuit Song when I realized I needed 7 more Cheerios in order to sustain myself through our outdoor adventure. However, this did not deter Mother from singing her song. It went like this:


Let’s get in the snowsuit now

Let’s get in the snowsuit now

Let’s get in the snowsuit now I mean right now.


While there may be a dearth of rhyme scheme and melodic variation in Mother’s compositions, she more than makes up for it with her jaw clenching delivery.


After a bit of negotiating over whether to put my right leg in first or my left leg, we compromised with my choice. Next we had a lively debate over mittens vs. gloves, followed by an extended conversation about hats. Mother felt I needed to wear one, I felt my Elsa wig would suffice. Since my feelings were bigger, we went with the wig. Throughout our tete-a-tete the Blob was making noises which we both managed to completely ignore.


In what I believe to be record time, we were ready!


Then, quite without warning, I had to pee. Immediately. A tear rolled down Mother’s cheek, no doubt a liquid symbol of the pride she felt for her Big Girl being toilet trained. In a matter of seconds I was naked as the day I was born and off to the bathroom. 45 minutes later, I was ready to resume snowsuiting.


This time there was a bit of a fracas over footwear. Without going into the details, let’s just say that certain boot-like objects may have been thrown and SOMEONE cried like the little tiny baby that she is. So jejune.


At last, all suited up, we opened the front door to our winter wonderland. We walked to the end of the driveway. For some unknowable reason, The Blob began to fuss. Quelle surprise. Mother mumbled something about “a stiff drink” which I found so oxymoronic, like saying “a nice baby.”


As I gleefully attempted to scoop up a mittened handful of the lovely white stuff, I suddenly realized this snowsuit was completely immobilizing my limbs as well as any possibilities for flexion in my torso. Also, it turns out wrapping all 5 feet of my Elsa braid around my neck in lieu of a scarf is very itchy. After numerous attempts (and by numerous, I mean one) to reach the snow, I had no choice but to express my frustration with the whole affair by flinging myself into a snowdrift. While Mother may remember it differently, I believe I stated, in a calm and reasonable manner, “NononostupidsnowsuitnonostupidsnownostupidBlobnonono.” At the same time The Blob, once again making it all about her, began to howl like the bald, toothless monster that she is.


Again, with her lips trembling and tears of pride streaming down her face for what I can only assume was her complete support of my self-advocacy, Mother gently grabbed me by my now mitten-less hand and tenderly escorted me back into the house.


After a restorative cup of hot cocoa and 29 Goldfish crackers, I announced I was willing to give our snowman building another go. I’ll never forget how Mother’s eyes rolled back into her head as she swooned to the floor with happiness. Precious memories indeed!


by Christine Stevens

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