On Saturday last, we woke up to find the earliest snow we've had since we've lived here. And since the greater part of Washington only sees the tiniest bit of snow as a signal to run to the store and purchase vast amounts of bread, milk and toilet paper, then return home to shutter up the windows and to wait out the inclement weather for what could literally be hours before the roads are clear again, we decided to throw caution to the wind and go tree hunting. What better day to do it right? So we bundled up the girls in double coats, gloves, hats and their warmest clothing and set off to find a tree as The KingofHearts declared, "This is tree huntin' weather!" We then drove two hours in the storm out to our favorite tree farm for the quintessential experience of cutting down our own tree in the snow. How often do you get a chance like that?

It was beautiful, idyllic and no one could wait until we got there, least of all The Dormouse, who talked non-stop about picking out the tree and then building a snowman. Then once we arrived, the first thing we did was step out of the car and The Dormouse ran to experience the snowbound hill, running hell-bent for election through the snow. It was the perfect Norman Rockwell moment.

The only thing wrong with Norman Rockwell paintings is that they are but a moment of a larger moving picture and you never actually get to see the next frame in the scene. In this particular film, the next scene was the one where The Dormouse immediately got her feet completely wet in the very wet snow and then complained about being cold for the next thirty minutes... all the way up the hill to the trees, all the way through the trees, all the time we were searching for a tree. She complained so much, in fact, that we couldn't even get her to settle down to help choose a tree or clear our thoughts long enough to choose one ourselves. We tried telling her to cowboy up, to shake it off. We wrapped her in a blanket and told her it would be just a little bit and could she just hold on long enough to get up the hill, choose a tree and get back down then we'd get in the car and turn on the heater, but ultimately, it was all for naught. When she finally began crying icicle tears, we decided it was time to give up and bring her back to the car. We then purchased a pre-cut tree off the lot and left.

Not quite the Norman Rockwell Christmas experience we were looking for.