Give a Starter Library! 10 Children's Books for the Early Years

Starter libraries are great gifts for newborns and their families.  Often times I pick out a combination of books: some will last through their toddler years and some into early elementary school.

Starting with the littlest chunky board book, like Farm Animals (A Chunky Book(R)), a well-loved first book will have teeth marks around the edges.  And when the reader is two, she will look at the cover and grunt like a pig.  Then, turning the pages, she will baa like a sheep or meow like a kitten as she re-reads her chewed up book. Moving from the barnyard to the zoo, Dear Zoo: A Lift-the-Flap Book (Dear Zoo & Friends) showcases the many zoo animals a child receives after writing to the zoo requesting a pet. Finally, a puppy arrives in a zoo crate.

Visual clues in wordless and nearly-wordless books make the youngest non-readers jump in and tell their own story.  Whether “read” aloud by grown-ups or children, the story is a little different every time.  Good Night, Gorilla is a cheeky gorilla’s adventure following a zookeeper. As the zookeeper says "good night" to each animal, the gorilla unlocks each cage with the keys he has sneakily removed from the zookeeper's belt. In 10 Minutes till Bedtime the same gorilla makes cameo appearances on every page as a little boy tries to get ready for bed.  Due to a group of wide-awake mice that has arrived at the boy's house 10 minutes before bedtime, getting ready for bed is nearly impossible!

You may cringe at the thought of adding paperback books to a young child’s library; it may be less painful if you send a roll of transparent tape with the book.  Beyond an unfortunate tantrum, tears happen while reading a beloved book.  Remaining calm and pulling out the tape is a great problem-solving skill to demonstrate.  If it’s paper, it’s only a matter of time before it rips, and there is a way to fix it.  The paperback Duck in the Truck fits nicely into the problem-solving genre as does the board book Sheep in a Jeep.  Duck and the sheep reveal how vehicular problems can be handled in very different ways.  Methods of problem-solving depend entirely on one’s own personality.

Let the imagination wander… commence King Bidgood's in the Bathtub!  After all, where else and who else could spend an entire day in a giant bathtub feasting, battling, fishing, and dancing?  Great short rhyming and beautiful illustrations lure the readers – parent and child – into this paperback fantasy.  Another fantasy for the very young, the board book Jamberry has readers rhyming through meadows of strawberry jam and other whimsical berry settings.

The beginning of The Rain Came Down (Avenues) features rain and a squawking chicken setting off a domino effect of frustration throughout a neighborhood.  After the rain stops, the people of the neighborhood re-connect through kindness.  With every letter of the alphabet used in this book, it was a favorite multi-purpose book to take on vacation.  "Let's find the Q!"

Despite the rumpled edges of A Bad Case of Stripes (Scholastic Bookshelf), it remains a stronghold on our bookshelves – perhaps more for me than my now 9- and 11-year-olds.  Packed with text, this is for a child who has eaten up stories since birth and enjoys read-alouds.  Starting out with a very normal first day of school, Camila’s journey gets a bit rocky as she tries to be the Camila that makes her popular.  Unusual physical changes hound Camila but are eventually reversed with the eating of a few beans.  For the younger set, it’s a story about a bad day.  Older kids will connect with the bigger theme in this “be yourself” book.

Damaged... chewed, torn, stained, taped... and well-loved, these are some of the most worn out books in our collection.

Here's a quick look at the covers and the author of each book. To order any of these, click on the cover to get to Amazon. If you are in a pinch for a present, most are available through Amazon Prime.

Winter 2015 Ski Report -- It's a Wrap!

We still have an 8-foot snow bank next to our steps on the north side of our house.  With the melting, raining, warming, then freezing, it is more aptly termed an ice bank.  A land glacier. On the inside of our Massachusetts house, the hallway is still lined with heavy duty winter equipment.  Hard plastic ski boots.  Hard plastic ski helmets.  Wool socks.  Over-sized ski bags.  Given the amount of snow still on the ground, I don’t have the heart to pack it all away, but I’m 90% sure the Malcolms are done with ski season.  This is my official Winter 2015 Ski Report.

The first ski attempt for Liam ended in tears before he even got on the slopes.  We were coaxing him to put his feet into his ski boots – the ones he wore last year.  We rented boots and skis that weekend after that torturous experience.  If I knew he wore bigger shoes than last year, why didn’t I assume he would need bigger ski boots??  I don’t know.  Perhaps because the ski boots look three times bigger than our feet.

Trading in the ski boots and skis from last year, Liam and I made a new friend in the young owner of the nearby ski shop.  I was set on buying used equipment.  I don’t mind if the skis are purple and the boots are orange.  With growing feet, we will get by year-to-year with mish mash.  “Look at these, Liam,” the shop owner was holding a pair of green and blue skis.  I noticed they matched Liam’s coat.  “Both ends are tipped, so you can practice your tricks going backwards down the mountain!”  Liam’s eyes reflected the sparkle in this young mountain man’s eyes.  My Iowa eyes went stoic and my Iowa lips pulled into a thin line as my flatland heart skipped a beat.

Liam proved they worked while he and I were on a run together.  “Look, Mom!” that sparkle was in his eyes, smile, and backward-facing skis pointed downhill.  Fine.  That’s fine because there is a ski patrol on this mountain.  Then, waiting in line for a chairlift, Liam’s face tilted up to mine.  “That was a sick ride, wasn’t it, Mom?”  Simultaneous thoughts: Liam is talking like a 14-year-old but he’s only the height of a 9-year-old & how do you spell that kind of “sick”?  On the way up the mountain, Liam clarified that it was most likely spelled “sik.” Here's a little skiing clip of my skiing grammarian beast.  Note the nice cross-mountain traverses until he's away from me... then his skis point straight down the mountain.

We skied at Smuggler’s Notch over winter break.  Will is in the highest level ski class, and there were only two or three kids in his class each day.  And they all wanted to ski the same place: the glades.  For my fellow flatlanders, that translates to “through the trees on steep hills.”  I ski one level:  the gentlest, easiest runs, the greens.  Trails marked by simple green circles.  For this reason, skiing is the one place in Will’s life that I am completely hands-off.  No choice: I’m on green circles, and Will is on black diamonds.

We received an email from the ski instructor the evening of Day One to let us know how Will had done that day.  They ski with GPS gadgets that also monitor speed.  Will’s top speed that day was 31.7 mph.  Must they torment me?  “Will, you would be breaking the 20 mph speed limit in my hometown!”  A grin in return.  Day Four, Will returned ecstatic.  “We went down the triple-black diamond!  The Black Hole!”  I calmly congratulated him.  That evening, I Googled “triple black diamond.”  What is the first thing that pops up?  The world’s scariest triple black diamonds in the United States. Number one, the Black Hole – pitched at 53 degrees – at Smuggler’s Notch.  The only triple black diamond east of the Mississippi.  My beast, Will, thinks it is spelled "sic."

After this short recollection of the Malcolm ski season, my heart is beating quickly.  Erratically?

Tonight, I’m packing up the ski gear for the year, for I feel a little sick.

(Have you read this Malcolm skiing adventure? Ski School.)

Friday Frittata: Turkey and Swiss

A solid three-day breakfast!  Not as light and fluffy as on Day One, but still a good, tasty hit of protein on Days 2 and 3.  This recipe is not perfected; I would try a good straight-forward hunk of Thanksgiving turkey breast next time. Motivation for this one?  Leftover sauteed vegetables from the evening before and leftover salad ingredients of cubed cracked pepper turkey and cubed Swiss cheese.

Ingredients:

5 beaten eggs, seasoned with a little salt & a little pepper

A handful of cubed low-fat Swiss cheese

Leftover sauteed veggies: peppers, broccoli, onions, sugar snap peas

A handful of cubed, cracked-pepper turkey from the deli

In 10-inch skillet over medium-high heat, add veggies and turkey.  Since the veggies had been sauteed in olive oil, no need for additional oil or butter. Heat through then spread vegetables and turkey evenly over the bottom of the pan.

Mix cheese into eggs.  Turn heat down to medium-low and slowly pour eggs and cheese into pan in a circular pattern, starting around the outside of the skillet and ending in the middle. Spread cheese evenly.

To prepare for the final stage of cooking, turn broiler on and make sure top rack is in the third position from the top.  If the rack is in the third position from the top, the frittata cooks slowly and browns evenly.

Continue to slowly cook eggs on the stove and, with a spoon, occasionally scoop down in the center of the pan and lift the cooked bits up to let the runny bits get to the heat.  When only a little wobble is left on the top, pop under the broiler.  Watch carefully until eggs meet your desired done-ness.  Remove skillet from broiler and take a picture!

...then eat!

New Adventures!

I have an over-the-shoulder reader of my stories. Liam. Yesterday, we reread the story about the afternoon he was pretending to be a seal and stuck a rock up his nose. He was three years old. Yesterday, at the beautiful age of nine, he put his editor hat on, looked at me and said, “Do you know that you spelled “booger” wrong?” No. Actually, I hadn’t caught that! He is a lovely grammarian. A couple weeks ago, I made a significant change in my life: I now have a space dedicated to writing in a “co-working office.” I pay a small fee per month and have 24/7 access to a desk in a large room with other entrepreneurial types. My first day I met Aidan, a marketing consultant who started working in the office two days prior to me.

“Yeah, I moved here from Starbucks,” he said. “Hmm, I was at Panera Bread.” We wore our coffee shops like badges. “I even stayed at Panera after I got locked into one of the stalls and had to crawl out from underneath. I didn’t even get a free coffee!” For the record, the bathrooms in this office building are lovely. So much cleaner than the grocery store – and the locks work perfectly. Unlike my previous office.

The boys know I write and publish stories on a blog. After going to my new office space for only a few days to write, they have been asking more about my craft. “Mom, how was your writing today?” Will asked after school yesterday. “It was great, Will!” And, as I opened a can of mandarin oranges, Liam asked, “Mom, do you think you could write a story about mandarin oranges?” I puffed my chest out, reflecting back to the black bra story, and said, “Honey, I could write a story about almost anything. Yes, I do believe I could write a story about mandarin oranges.” He grinned.

I shall spare you that story.

“Inventory” is a driving force behind many of my stories. I see a candle, cook a meal, pack for the day, or find a picture of the barn at Mom and Dad’s… and writing ideas pop. Sometimes I document these visuals – the springs to my imagination – with a quick snap on my phone. Others find their slot in my memory where the image is burned.

(Remember Shabby-chic-practical?)

With my adventure into a dedicated writing space, I’m trying something new. When I write a story about a piece of inventory, I may “link out” to that product. If by chance you are struck by the fascinating or humorous story around my use of a product and want it for yourself, and, if you purchase it via the click from my post, then I will get a small percentage of that purchase to put toward my monthly rent.

I thought about starting this pilgrimage off with a link out to a black bra, but which one? And, I’m never going to buy mandarin oranges on-line – so why would I drop that link now? No, when you see a link to a product, you will know that it is something near and dear to my inventory.

Frittata Friday: Invigorated Droopy Veggies

Well, that title really makes you want to try this recipe, huh?  Honestly, it has been a week of eating out and pawing through the cupboards.  The inventory of fresh fruits in our fridge consists of crisp Fuji apples, a jar of mandarin oranges, and half a jar of applesauce.  The latter two are not moldy so they classify as "fresh." The veggie drawer doesn't look much happier.  Leftover chopped red bell pepper from last week's Raw Reds and three spring onions.  However, there were still plenty of eggs and feta on hand!  The resulting frittata was anything but droopy!

Vegetables naturally soften when they cook, so starting with droopy vegetables is quite OK.  No need for perfection here!

Ingredients:

5 beaten eggs, seasoned with salt, pepper, and paprika

2 t. butter

1/2 large droopy red bell pepper, chopped

3 droopy spring onions, chopped

1/2 c. additional chopped droopy veg of your choice (optional)

feta cheese, block or crumbles

Heat butter in a 10-inch skillet over medium heat.  Saute pepper and onion until slightly droopier.

Spread vegetables evenly over the bottom of the pan.  Turn heat down to medium-low and slowly pour eggs into pan in a circular pattern, starting around the outside of the skillet and ending in the middle.

To prepare for the final stage of cooking, turn broiler on and make sure top rack is in the second position from the top.

Continue to slowly cook eggs on the stove and, with a spoon, occasionally scoop down in the center of the pan and lift the cooked bits up to let the runny bits get to the heat.  When only a little wobble is left on the top, sprinkle with desired amount of cheese and pop under the broiler.  Watch carefully until eggs meet your desired done-ness.  Remove skillet from broiler.  Serves two hungry adults.

Safety note: Leave a potholder resting on the handle so you don't accidentally grab the handle to serve up your frittata.

Note: If you are cooking for one, try refrigerating half and reheating it in the microwave.  It won't be as puffy as Day 1, but the flavors are still great.

(If you happen to have leftover fresh squid, try this scraped together Simple Squid Dinner!)

Best small talk of the season. Most impressive skier I’ve ever seen.

Looking for spring skiing with good snow, we landed at Killington in Vermont on Sunday.  I heard there was a 30-foot base of snow.  The forecast was for 39 and sunshine. Mountain weather changes faster than Midwestern weather.  It was cold, snowy, icy, and cloudy.  The top of the highest peak was never seen from the base lodge by Malcolm eyes that day.  In fact, the slope was barely visible from the parking lot as Bill and Will started the day trudging toward the gondola line.

We split as usual: 3 to the big mountain and 1 to the littlest mountain.  In the gates to the quad chairlift for my second ride up the little mountain, I asked a mother/daughter combo if I could ride with them to the top.  If an employee isn’t telling people how to load, I believe, from observation, that the socially acceptable thing to do is to ask if you can join a group.  As we three approached the front of the line, we left an open space between me and them.

Just as we started moving toward the loading zone, where the chair would scoop us, a person zipped into the spot.  We loaded and settled.  Pulling the safety bar down in front of us, I glanced to the side to make sure no one’s poles were jammed in an uncomfortable position.  I noticed our 4th joiner’s coat.  It was a tatted trench coat that came down to mid-shin.  The seams were ragged.  The material was canvas-like.  My eyes moved up to the head.  It was covered with a black helmet which was covered with gray duct tape.  A gator (half ski-mask) covered the mouth and nose.  I could only see eyes through the goggles.

The eyes stared straight forward.  No words.  Shifting my eyes to straight forward, I chewed on the visual.  This looked like a homeless person on a ski lift.  I didn’t know if it was a male or female, young or old.  All of us were silent on the quad, looking straight ahead.  This could be the quietest five minutes of my life where small talk is supposedly still alive.  Or, as with every other ride up, I could start the small talk.

“Is this your first day at Killington?”

“Who, me??”

“Yes, you.”

“Oh no, I’ve been skiing for two weeks!  This is my last day.  I pay $59 for a season pass.  Can’t beat it.  This is the best mountain east of the Mississippi.”

“Oh!  Where are you from?” I asked the man.  And, how is it that you only pay $59 when the average adult season pass is over $1,000?

“Connecticut.”

A little more ski talk moved to me asking, “Are you originally from Connecticut?”

“No, I was born in New York City,” ah, yes, I can hear that accent, “then I moved to Pennsylvania, before I moved to Connecticut.”

“Oh, I was born in Iowa and live near Boston now.”

“IOWA?  I used to work in Iowa!  I worked in Cedar…  Cedar…”

“Cedar Rapids?!?!”

“Yes!  I sold industrial machinery to the corn mills.”

I chuckled, for I don’t know much about Cedar Rapids other than the mills.    Or rather the smell of Cedar Rapids because of the mills.  The city eternally smells like earthly grains being slowly baked.  It’s the first Iowa smell that hits us after we land in the Cedar Rapids airport on our way to Mom and Dad’s.  “Do you remember the smell of the mills?”

“Oh, yes!  They used to tell me if I was hungry just to inhale!”  Indeed, he knew Cedar Rapids!!

As we continued with our small talk, I noticed a plastic card fluttering on the sleeve of his jacket.  It was his season pass with his head shot.  The petite, gray head was that of an 80-year-old’s.  But, surely no… could he be?  Above the photo, were the words, “BEAST PASS.”

We wished one another well as we prepared to disembark.  Did I notice the chair slow slightly as we approached the off ramp?  We both skied to the right after exiting the flying chairs.  I stopped as usual to sort myself out before heading down the slope.  I tried to adjust my poles and gloves quickly so I could watch this skiing enigma move down the mountain, but he disappeared over the hill on a blue slope.

I scooted down the hill, thinking by chance we might pair up again on the lift, but he was long gone by the time I made it to the bottom of our little mountain.  On the way back up the mountain, I spotted him skiing down right under the chair lift.  He looked like he was born on those skis.  As if he had sprung forth solidly from the mountain.  With his long coat, he resembled a tree trunk traversing confidently, gracefully down the mountain.

With a little research, I discovered that there is only one way a person can pay only $59 for a Beast Pass to this mountain: as a Super Senior in the 80+ age group.

Greatest small talk of the season.  Most impressive skier I’ve ever seen.

Frittata Friday: The Raw Reds

In an 8-week sugar cleanse a couple years ago, I mastered an egg dish that I now claim as my morning masterpiece.  Off-hand, I can’t think of any other dishes that I cook without a recipe which are as satisfying as this little humdinger. The frame of the recipe is five eggs beaten with a little salt, a little more pepper, and a good solid sprinkling of paprika.  Other necessary elements include vegetables for color and texture.  Then, before the final bit of magic under the broiler, capping the ensemble off with cheese.

I thought the eggy dish was a pretty omelet like Bill used to make when we first met.  After a bit of research on my methods, lo and behold, I’ve been making frittatas!  Me… frittatas!  Coming off of a big granola bar era, this frittata ranks as a gourmet breakfast to me.

With this solid hit of morning protein, I charge into the day more confidently, less light-headedly, and clearer in thought.  Perhaps the confidence comes from the early morning shake-of-the-pan veggie flipping.  No utensil needed.  Just a little butter.  And an open mind to some of veggies flying to the floor.

Today, I welcome you to Frittata Friday with my first ever self-authored recipe!

The Raw Reds Frittata

Ingredients:

5 beaten eggs, seasoned with salt, pepper, and paprika

2 t. butter

1/2 large red bell pepper, chopped

1 spring onion, chopped

large handful of grape tomatoes

feta cheese, block or crumbles

Heat butter in a 10-inch skillet over medium heat.  Saute pepper and onion until slightly softened.  Add tomatoes and saute briefly just until skins start to wrinkle.

Spread vegetables evenly over the bottom of the pan.  Turn heat down to medium-low and slowly pour eggs into pan in a circular pattern, starting around the outside of the skillet and ending in the middle.

To prepare for the final stage of cooking, turn broiler on and make sure top rack is in the second position from the top.

Continue to slowly cook eggs on the stove and, with a spoon, occasionally scoop down in the center of the pan and lift the cooked bits up to let the runny bits get to the heat.  When only a little wobble is left on the top, sprinkle with desired amount of cheese and pop under the broiler.  Watch carefully until eggs meet your desired done-ness.  Remove skillet from broiler.  Serves two hungry adults.

Note: If you are cooking for one, try refrigerating half and reheating it in the microwave.

Safety note: Leave a potholder resting on the handle so you don't accidentally grab the handle to serve up your frittata.  (Surely I'm not the only one who will try this, right?)  Also, the potholders with neoprene rubber do not hold up well dealing with pans that have been under a broiler.

The Melt

We New Englanders are moving into pre-spring.  With temperatures in the 40s for a couple days, many of us have a bit of a lift in our step, smiling and soaking in the cool air.  Until we hit black ice and fall on our ass. I love the snow, and I much prefer snow season to the season of Melt.  The below-normal cold temperatures has kept our driveway snow-packed for the last couple months.  With a good pair of boots, my feet stay warm and my body stays upright with a layer of snow on the ground.

But Melt is a different story.  Melt is the warm sun during the day and hearing the crash of the icicles in the late afternoon.  After a few days of melt, these are all gone now.

However, at sunset, the ground proves its power and within a couple short hours, black ice replaces the wet shallow puddles.  Given the ground has spent months below freezing, one whimsical sunny afternoon is not going to break its freezing hold.

Our snow banks are much the same.  During the month of February, we would sink up to our thighs if we walked on the snow banks.  Now, with the Melt, the snowbanks are solid.  The sound of the van bumping the snow banks while making three-point turns in our driveway used to be a gentle “sploosh.” Now it’s more of hard crunch that leaves me wondering if it was a tail light or snow bank that gave way.

On ice, sensible shoes are only those that might have spikes on the bottom.  I ventured out to my book club last night in shoes with rubber soles.  I might as well have been wearing skis.  The driveway to the hostess’ house looked clear.  I parked near the back door and opened my van door into a snow bank.  I wobbled between the bank and my van, leaning on the van  like a crutch.  A little of the sand and salt encrusting the van would undoubtedly land on my clothes.

At the end of the evening, two hours later, five of us exited the same back door and gingerly made our way toward our cars.  “We are using your van to balance, Linda!”  I replied, “Sorry about the dirt!” as I rounded the front of my van.  Then it hit.  Or rather I hit it: the black ice.  I waddled over it and placed a foot onto the sloping snow bank for surer footing.  I slipped and yipped.  “Are you OK, Linda?”  Yes.  I continued dancing on the iced-over snow bank until the maneuver landed me spread eagle against the driver’s door.  I had made it.  Only my back was against the door that I needed to open.

I stood still, except for the belly laugh that was shaking my core.  As I steadied myself, I heard the other women crunching their way around their car.  I immediately recognized the sound that interrupted the steady crunch.   “Splooonch!”  A slow slide down the side of a frozen snow bank.  Steadying myself against the door, I turned my head to the left and saw Samantha’s silhouette sitting against the snow bank.  She was facing the driver’s door of her car.  “Are you OK, Samantha?”  Without hesitation, Samantha replied, “Yes, I’m fine.”  The tone was of ice exasperation.

I flailed out and away and spun to grab the handle of my van door.  My body quaked with the hilarity of it all.  We were living a fast action, slapstick video.  Safely but not gracefully, I landed behind the wheel and let one of those uncontrollable laughs fully live its life.

The women in my book club are gracious and graceful.  And now, wet and dirty from my van and from snow banks that look like this in the daylight.

We are hardy New Englanders.

(This winter is Defying Logic!)

Defying Logic

Defy logic.  That’s what 100 inches of snow and sub-normal temperatures do. I picked up one of my son’s friends for an overnight late one afternoon.  Popping open the swinging gate to their yard, I was greeted by two big, lick-happy dogs.  Two days and one 12-inch snowfall blizzard later, I took Will’s friend home and the dogs greeted me in the front yard.  I must have looked at the mom a little perplexed.  “I know!  With that last snow, they just walk over the fence!”  The four-foot high fence.  I don’t think I have ever seen such gleeful dogs.

Our 4-foot high fence -- two storms ago.

***

Where we stayed while skiing in Vermont was heated by forced air.  The bedrooms were on the cool side.  Liam slept like a rock and, back at home, said he missed that coolness.  I agreed.  I turned the heat down from our standard 69 degrees to 65.  The next morning when I turned the thermostat back up to 68, the heat wouldn’t come on.  I picked the wrong night to drop the tempurature, for I set off a domino effect:  I turned the heat to 65.  The water stopped flowing through the pipes.  The outdoor temperature dropped to minus something.  A cold breath of air found its way into the wall and gave the water pipes a cold blast.  The pipes froze.  I called therapists for the pipes.

First, just keep the heat up high in the rest of the house and that should take care of it within hours.  Many hours later, no change.  We ran our gas fireplace in the bedroom for hours a day and set up a little space heater in the boys’ room.  After days of a balmy 75 - 80 degrees on the main floor, I couldn’t do it any longer.  Then, let’s just wait until an above freezing day and that should take care of it.  That day came and went.  Finally, after Will came into our room with a morning chill, I scratched out all appointments for a day and pulled space heaters up to the walls and pipes in two suspicious rooms.  Bill pulled heavy furniture away from walls so the heat could get to hidden pipes.  Finally, ten days after the initial freeze, I felt a spring of hot water rush through the pipe to the boys’ bathroom radiator.  Oh the relief of having un-constipated heating pipes.

***

We Malcolms are fortunate to be a snow-loving family.  I use the royal “we” here as Bill is a ski-lover but not a snow-lover.  This year I found that a chairlift up the mountain is one place where small talk still exists.  Fingers would turn blue outside of gloves in -9 degree weather.  Plus, there is that long drop from the high-flying chairs to the slope: That keeps cell phones zippered tightly in pockets on the ride up.  The small talk experience is akin to flying in the 80's.

***

The spring thaw should be interesting.  We’ve installed two sump pumps in our basement in preparation for the inevitable week of 45-degree temps, a big brilliant full sun, and a ginormous melt.  Our sled inventory has suffered over this winter.  We are down to only one good sled and one duct-taped together -- and two others are under a snowbank.  Two saucers – dug out from the loft and used only in desperation – nearly disappeared in the scant four inches earlier this week, but I believe Bill rescued them.  I think there may also be a glove and a snow shovel re-appearing in May.  Thinking it might be good to replenish sleds soon, and these Paricon Winter Lightning Sled (3-Pack) look great!

***

Then, there are the ice jams… the science behind those is a whole wondrous story in and of itself.

Happy Winter!

(Fierce Mountain Gnomes also defy logic.)