It is snowing outside my window, and the valley has been painted in white. Our terrifyingly steep street is as a powdered-sugar ice rink and as I brave the descent so many times a day to drive children here and there, I am coined by my eldest as "The Only Brave Mom".
Brave, I ask?
Rather an idiot, I'd say.
But every time I slip into the car, pull it out of the tiny drive and look down my bobsled street, perched on the edge like the Grinch on his way to Cindy Lou Hoo's house, I think...
This is a step into the tornado. Yeehaw!