Sometimes I read about other families and their traditions and I think "Oh no! We have no traditions at all! Our kids are growing up without traditions!" Then we will do something that we do every year, and often I won't even realize that we are in the middle of starting our own traditions. Such is the Snowmelt Cookout for us.
Every year when it's warm and sunny enough to stay outside for awhile in the evening, but long before all the snow is melted, we have a cookout. One year Chickie sat in her carseat for the cookout, bundled in blankets, and we fed her tiny bits of grilled hamburger bun. Last year we hauled Mac and Bubbie's highchairs out on the porch, since crawling babies didn't go well with slushy puddles.
This year everyone ran around and stomped in the mud and ate hot dogs and climbed on the riding mower, finally melted out from its four feet of snow. We were in winter coats and piles of dirty snow were everywhere, but we celebrated the sunshine and the warm weather and the crocuses in bloom.
And we did it not a moment too soon, because yesterday winter returned. (The second photo below is of snow on our car window.)
Like the crocuses, though - or perhaps because of them - we're still holding out hope for spring.