Hairsicles

Last weekend, we went snowshoeing again. We couldn't help ourselves. The fluffy white snow was calling our names, "Erika! Joe! Come play!" (If only we knew it would hit us hard later!) So we packed a picnic, hot cocoa and headed east. But I apparently forgot to pack my common sense because my hair turned to ice. Next time, tuck it in your hat, Peterson. I had hairsicles.

But seriously. We love snowshoeing and want anyone and everyone to join us sometime. Except for the man running up the hillside in snowshoes. I would consider that self-inflicted torture. (Says the girl who willingly did this.)