The Truck Was Not My Friend

Today it was lovely outside.  Fifty degrees with blue skies on valentine's day lovely.  So I got us all ready to go get Daddy a Valentine's surprise from his little ladies.  Opportunities like this are rare in the winter, since the girls and I hoof it while Daddy commutes to work.  The girls wore their favorite lately: crazy busy tights and delicate tulle skirts.  We added layers in heart patterned fleece hoodies and cozy puffy vests.  As if that wasn't enough texture and pattern for any out fit, the whole look got finished off with sparkly princess/fairy snow-boots.  And the usual dredging in sugar and spice.  Perfect.  I got my boots and cream puffy vest on too, just because.  Looked pretty good, if I say so myself.

Then we headed up the street with the double stroller.  Me in the street.  The girls happily navigating the absolute rivers between the "snow tunnels" that have honestly been the best any one could expect your average citizen to carve out above the sidewalk considering the many feet of snow we've had this winter.  I figured it was the safer course for the moment, plus it allowed them to get their hollers and tigger-esque wiggles out.

There was a point, after we crested the hill and successfully avoided overly obsessing over the mummified roadkill specimen that had unfortunately surfaced as a result of the thaw when I saw an opportunity to get back on the sidewalk without getting completely wedged between two walls of gray slush.  Little Blue was dragging, barely keeping herself moving ahead by repeating the goal "Surprise...for Daddy....I'm SuperGirl.." with every step.  Cinderella Baby was starting to look a little droopy in Curly's arm.  It was time for offer these little gals a ride.

They got settled with a little box of candy hearts a piece (courtesy of Mammy) and we rounded the corner, on our merry way.  I was enjoying the blue sky and dreaming of spring and feeling awfully pleased with myself; after all, here I was cruising along with a hundred pound stroller over mud and slush through a luge shoot of greasy, melting ice and feeling cheery as a pioneer at a camp-fire dance.  And then, well, then my friendly smugness was rudely interrupted by a big fat splatter.  Mud and slush and cold wet.  All over me.  And my clean, straight hair and my white vest.  Compliments of the speeding delivery truck passing at a blur through a puddle.  The girls didn't notice.  I didn't cry.  But I don't mind admitting I wanted to.

Sometimes life is like that.