Pummeling The Pony

OK. We got the snow. HH took the kids out this morning at 8:45 and pulled them around on sleds. Don't get that warm fuzzy image of HH pulling a sled by hand. Laws, NO! HH tied them up to the back of the Scout (the sleds, not the kids, because we have laws against that kind of thing here in Missouri), and buzzed around the field like a madman. Oh, every now and then he looked back. Which means he had to backtrack and pick up My Little Pony, who fell off frequently.

HH thought he was behind the wheel of a speedboat, methinks. A speedboat towing professional water-skiers. Because he whipped those poor boys around the curves unmercifully. The wind chill was in the teens, and I made them wear those ski mask sock caps. You know, like bank robbers wear in the winter when it's too cold for pantyhose. That poor Pony ate a bucketfull of snow every time he toppled head first into the field of screams. HH has selective hearing, so it took the #1 son hollering at him to make him go back. Not that the #1 son was being protective of his little brother. He just wanted his target back. You see, HH had tied them in a long-rope/short-rope configuration so they wouldn't collide. More likely, he just had one long rope and one short rope. But anyhoo, the #1 son's sled was behind and to the left of the Pony's sled. #1 balanced on his sled with no hands, and used those paws to scoop up snow, mold snowballs, and fire them at the back of the Pony's head as they swerved around the field.

Poor Pony came in with icy red hands, blowfish lips, and a scrape on the side of his nose where his glasses should fit. He said his dad made them take off the gloves to warm their hands. Go figure! HH must live in the Bizzaro World where things are backwards! Pony's lips got swollen from smacking into the field face-first so many times. And the scrape must have been from something harder than snow that he landed on. It's all fun and games until the Pony loses an eye. Next time, I suppose he'll need safety glasses. And to garner more sympathy, the Pony stuck out his bottom blowfish lip and said sadly, "And one time, I fell on THIS arm when Dad threw me off my sled." He gingerly held up the elbow formerly known as 'broken' with his good arm, and made big puppy-dog pony eyes. That boy has me wrapped around his little finger. The #1 son is more hardy. He didn't have a mark on him, except for a bad case of hat-hair. I offered to make him some hot chocolate, and he said, "I'll do it myself." Wow. He's only been 13 for five days, and already he's more self-sufficient.

That's all Mrs. Hillbilly Mom can write today, folks. She's getting observed tomorrow, and has to skedaddle off to type up a blue-ribbon lesson plan. Because that's how she does things, you know. It's all about the show.

And shame on any of you who thought this title was about something else.