We woke up this morning to a slushy, freezing wonderland.
YessireeBob, it was snowing in the Hama. It doesn’t snow often and when it does rarely accumulates, especially in our neighborhood about a half mile from the bay.
In other parts of Japan, a snowy morning is not greeted with much joy. I certainly was not happy to wake and open my door to a snowbank completely blocking my entrance when I lived in another Japanese town, in another not-so-Japanese life. I was even less happy when I realized that being completely snowed in was not an excuse not to go to work. It was an arduous journey, the 400 meter walk to the JHS, and rife with danger.
Apparently the kids didn’t think so since they all showed up and on time.
But anyway, back to this morning.
Being a Georgia girl and faced with snow, my first instinct was to hibernate. I bravely ignored the alarm not once, but twice. Eventually we woke up and my other Georgia-girl instance kicked in: the need to bundle children up against the snow. No skin must be visible. If you had seen him you might have thought Me First was going out to rob a bank, what with his toboggan puled down low and a scarf wrapped round his nose and mouth. (Of course you would not have recognized it was Me First, and he had too many layers on to make a speedy getaway.)
Then I came to his feet.
Dios mio this will not do!
It was far too wet outside to venture out in his sneakers without contracting frostbite or worse, trench foot. All I had in way of golashes were these horrid thin plastic things. Wet would be worse than cold, I reckon, so add an extra pair of socks and send him out into the sleety wet wet world.
Me Too, as is her habit, would not move from her spot in front of the heater. (I should have named her Heaterella.) Eventually we wrangled a friend into coming to play with her, and she had a lovely time without needing to ignite my bundling instinct.
In the afternoon, the rain let up so we ventured out to the grocery store. It was then I realized that Me Too’s feet can no longer fit into her Fresh Pretty Cure rain boots (galoshes) that I had been forced to spend a fortune on even though this cartoon was out of circulation before she could walk. No amount of cajoling or conjuring or cursing could get those ＊＃＝€!?｝little feet in there, so we stopped by the snow store next door.
Convenient to live in a metropolis, no?
These snow boots were on sale, so I got a pair for both children, and an adult size for myself. (Though it won’t be long before Me First and I can share. His are only two sizes smaller.)
I agonized for a bit over whether to buy these for him or not, because they are technically girl’s shoes. Even worse, the box says “Girls!” in big pink letters. They are brown and kind of lumberjack-y and he likes them, since he didn’t see the box. I’m afraid, though, that a girl at school will notice and say something and he will be mortally embarrassed and blow up at me, then insist on wearing his regular shoes and getting trench foot.
I think I might let him draw something on them…