Yeah, yeah. Today is the Super Bowl. I haven’t forgotten. As a matter of fact, Mel and I are hosting a Super Bowl Party on Twitter called #FootballForWomen. All levels of sports enthusiasm from 10 to negative 5 are welcome to play. And you needn’t be a woman!
Just look for us at the hashtag #FootballForWomen during the game. We promise to make you laugh. Either with us or at us.
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And now we return you to your regularly scheduled blog post ….
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Before there was a Super Bowl or seven-layer dip or even football … there were groundhogs. Also known as the woodchuck or the whistle-pig, groundhogs are accomplished hibernators. (Is it weird that I’m jealous of the groundhog?). And thus, since 1841, they have been traumatized annually with the tradition of forceful extraction from their protective winter burrows for the sheer purpose of human entertainment.
Also known as Groundhog Day.
Truth? My kids and I have been following this tradition for years. Even though our hearts are always bleeding for the trembling varmints. We enjoy watching the televised festivities in Punxsutawney each year so much that, many years ago, we actually fashioned a little version of our own to observe the special day in our household. Of course, we don’t own a groundhog.
Can you guys already guess what’s coming next?
Poor Milo never stood a chance in this family.
Here’s how it goes down. All family members must congregate with Milo (typically against his will) in the laundry room. The doorway to that room is a central point in an adjoining hallway. Prior to this congregation, a tasty treat has been placed at each end of the hallway. One is labeled Spring and the other Winter.
Here’s what we went with today.
With a simple count of three, Milo is placed on the floor of the laundry room as we wait “quietly” until he is ready to leave. Whichever direction he turns upon exiting determines the coming weather for the next six weeks. It also determines what treat we get to tear into at that very moment.
Editor’s Note: At one time, I considered putting a tasty treat on one end of the hallway and something most unsavory (e.g., canned spinach, a list of household chores, cat poo, etc.) at the other end. To make things a whole lot more interesting. But that just seemed mean. And it also could jeopardize Milo’s safety in the years he picked poorly.
So, what did Milo predict for this year?
Bundle up, buttercup. Looks like we’re in for six more weeks of Winter. And cookies for breakfast!