Cold Comfort

One day last week, after a heavy snowfall, we spent the afternoon making a huge snow fort in the backyard. After we topped it off with a heavy tarp for a roof, the kids hunkered down inside to plan a snow battle. But they soon had other ideas.

My daughter said, "It's so warm and cozy. We can sleep in here tonight." Then my son's face lit up and he agreed that this would be a wonderful idea.

I didn't think they were really serious, but after dinner they lugged the sleeping bags out of the basement and started making a pile of quilts and pillows at the back door.

They seemed determined to sleep in that snow fort. Surprisingly, I said okay, expecting them to get cold feet (so to speak) at the last minute. I stood back and watched as they loaded the fort up with their gear. They even brought out snacks and drinks, for survival purposes I suppose.



My wife and I helped them get settled into their sleeping bags, under several blankets and quilts, then we said goodnight to them and ventured back into the warmth and comfort of our living room, where we could sit on the couch with one eye on the TV and one eye on the snow fort.



They stirred for about fifteen minutes, then were still. We figured they were either frozen or asleep. I even walked outside and whispered, "Have you turned into ice cubes?" They seemed okay, so we just left them to continue their little adventure.

Around midnight, when it was 25 degrees, I heard a light tapping at the back door and there stood my daughter, half asleep and shivering miserably in her stocking feet. She said, "It's c-c-c-cold," and ran up to her room.



Her brother, however, was a trooper. He made it through the whole night, waking up around 7:30 in the middle of a new snow storm. No extremities were frozen, and he said he'd had the best night's sleep ever.

I asked him if he wanted to sleep out there again the next night. His response, "No thanks. Once was enough."

Good thing, too. That night the snow fort collapsed in on itself.