Bleak Midwinter? Check.

I pull her home through the storm and it's like walking through the Blair Witch Project.
When she sings it's ok. And when she cries it's ok. But every time she stops I have to turn around and make sure she's still there.
I've never felt closer to Laura Ingalls.
When I finally open the gate at home she falls off the sleigh. On the front steps she breaks down and howls like a wolf. "I have snow INSIDE! And my HAIR is cold!"
I don't think we've ever been this wet without swimming.
We enter the house shaking and when I start to pull off her layers she falls into my lap, laughing.
Apparently I look funny. Like, very funny. Like, laughing beyond control funny.
I put on the Babar film and the teapot and seconds after her brother runs up the steps.
Now all of us are home. Eating knäckebröd and putting on dry clothes and lighting a fire.
We are not going out again anytime soon.