Yesterday, Dave and I went to a bookstore, and I spent a lot of time in the children's section looking for potential baby books for Finn. I picked a couple of books that were about how much various animal parents love their animal babies, and so, human baby, you can extrapolate that your parents love you a crazy lot, too.
Then I picked this book called "Snowmen at Night", which is all about snowmen at night sliding out to the park and playing baseball and drinking cold cocoa and basically living it up. The illustrations are really bright and charming, and it looked like something a tiny person would think were very funny. (Can't wait to find out what sort of sense of humor little Finn will have. Oh, man. Until he gets old enough to be active on the comedy front, I'm going to be projecting a lu-lu sense of humor on to him.)
Look, I loved reading that snowman book myself. It looked great, and the snowmen looked so cute. And without realizing it, I developed a brief case of snowman fever. I didn't know I had it until Dave and I were leaving the store, and I kept halting by anything snowman-related. Dave finally said, "Hey, there, Snowman-Crazy..." and I had a flash of clarity that in fact I was hypnotized by anything snowman, and I found this hilarious to the point of doubling over.
But, truly, I urge you to consider the snowman afresh. Let yourself be seduced by the round simplicity and benevolence of the snowman. Become as a child again before his gentle, folksy sphericalness.