You know the snow is too deep in your yard when your youngest daughter, out sledding, loses one of her boots in the drifts at the top of the hill. You know you’re too conscientous a parent when you head out, barefoot in ankle boots, to haul her down the hill on the sled which keeps sinking into the soft snow, getting stuck all the way down, then manhandle her, hopping off-balance, to the back door and in the house, remarking in the process that she weighs almost as much as you do. You know it’s going to hurt, with the cold, when you trudge back up the hill through thigh-high drifts and help eldest locate the missing boot.
For bonus points, you return outside five minutes later when disconsolate eldest is sitting, sobbing under the arbor vitae out front because you’ve called her fat (which, you have not, but since she’s older than her sister who you’ve just noted weighs nearly as much as you, you are hereby decreed as having said close enough for it to count) and assist her in shovelling the snow off the front steps. You jolly her out of her insane leap of interpretation and accompany her back inside.
In the end, you console yourself as you brew tea after you’ve served the kids hot chocolate and try to chafe warmth back into the very pink skin stretching from ankle to mid-calf. And you hope that they won’t dream of sledding in the yard any more this winter.