Snow yeah!

It. Will. Not. Snow.

That is what I definitively told my wife last week, as she combed through a half a dozen weather forecasts, trying to figure out which one would give us the best chance for a snowball fight.

She asked me why I would say that. After all, she pointed out, I am a big fan of winter weather. I am almost as bad as the kids when it comes to anticipating the white stuff. The answer was simple: I was sick and tired of being disappointed. For probably six years, whenever it looked as if it might snow or ice, I got on the bandwagon - stockpile the pantry, get out the winter accessories, gas up the snowmobile. OK, we don't have a snowmobile. But if we did, rest assured it would be gassed up.

And each time we awoke with blue skies and temperatures in the mid 70s. It didn't matter what the forecast the day before was. There would be no snow, no ice, no nothing, save for me disappointed and having to explain to the kids that sleeping with their pajamas inside out didn't work because, well, they didn't want it enough.

So this time, when it became painfully clear that we were going to get some snow, I took the hard line stance. (I even had the headline ready should the snow not have happened: "Oh, snow, you didn't."

And I am fairly certain my contrarian position is what made it snow. So you're welcome.

To that point, some highlights of my snow day:

* Gravity can doom a snowman. By the time I got home, the kids had begun several snowmen in the backyard. My neighbor had crafted one that eventually stood around seven feet tall. It took three of us to get the midsection up. After about an hour, another neighbor and I noticed the snowman was leaning slightly. "How long do you give it?" he asked. "Thirty minutes?" I said. "Boom," said the snowman as it fell to the ground. "Guess not," my neighbor said.

* Some kids learn quicker than others. My neighborhood was crawling with adolescents looking for new and exciting ways to annihilate others with snow. I felt it necessary to refine their trades, teaching them the art of the lob-one-pelt-a-second-snowball tactic, as well as the shake-the-snowy-tree-branch. I was pleased to see one of the young students later bait a child under a tree and then send a large snowball into the branches above, raining a mini-avalanche down on him.

* Ice is good for a surgically repaired knee. At least this is what I told the two critics who said it was a bad idea to get on my knees and put Parker on my shoulders for a chicken snow fight against his buddy Haze. The initial ruling on the field was that Parker and I lost, but that decision is being appealed to the International Snow Chicken Congress.

* Don't go take a hot bath. I did not make this mistake this time, because I still vividly remember some time around 1980 when we got snow. I played outside in it for hours, and then, in an effort to warm up, ran inside, cranked up a hot bath, and jumped in. And immediately jumped out. Screaming. "Kids," I told them, "never risk a bath." "Kids," their mother told them, "never listen to your father. Warm up. And then get a bath. You're filthy."

* My neighbor learned this lesson: If you want to be hit with a snowball, step out of your car with four 12-year-old boys standing around and say, "DO NOT HIT ME WITH SNOWBALLS!" (OK, four 12-year-old boys and a 37-year-old neighbor. As I told my wife, "What? She can't ground me.")

The kids were a little bummed that the snow was gone by Sunday, but as I told them, it's more fun to have the snow come in quickly, enjoy a day of it and then move on rather than be chocked down for weeks on end with snow. I told them that once a year was a good frequency of wintry weather. So let's look forward to next year, when I guarantee - It. Will. Not. Snow.