Things You Can (Should) Do With An Igloo

By | January 28, 2013

You know about the igloo by now. It was built in the back yard before Christmas, but the fact that it is still standing, though subdued because of time and various elements that happened upon it, well, I thought it’d be fair to describe the many uses of such a contraption should you be inspired to try it. Provided that you have access to eighty blocks of large snow bricks that you’d stack just so. It’s a tight place to be. If you’re claustrophobic, that can either cure your phobia or make it worse.

Back when we built it… By 10pm the igloo was done. The air was crisp and clear and the sky felt pleasantly heavy with snow-loaded clouds. Sasha’s question came out like a bell with a sleepy sound attached to it:
“Can we sleep in the igloo tonight?”

It was late and igloo-sleeping needs some preparing time. In retrospect the answer should’ve been yes, but instead it was a “maybe tomorrow”. The next night the sleepover was postponed again but we crawled in with a candle and hot chocolate. New guidelines on coziness were issued right then and there.

A day or two after Christmas we visited the igloo with much caution since the interim heavy snowing made the construction slunk on one side. Will it collapse if we climb on it? When you’re six, that’s not really a question, but simply announcing your mom what will happen next. Sasha climbed and nothing happened.

Ten minutes later, Tony joined us and the three of us were running up and down and nothing budged. We leaned a wide wooden plank on the collapsed side and slid down. Not long enough. We brought all the plywood planks we had and created something that resembled a big wooden tongue. We sled, skateboarded and laundry-basketed down the impromptu run. You should try it. It may cause excessive laughing. There, you’ve been warned.

Next we dug holes on the side of the igloo, plus one on top. Submarine anyone? All of a sudden the boys had a mission to attend to. Save what you can, if you can. Most importantly, proceed at your own peril. They did: Slide in through the top, come out through the side hole. Repeat as needed.

A few days later we returned to the igloo. We uncovered the wooden run and brought back the aforementioned sledding arsenal. First sledding facing forward, but backwards adds an extra heart jump so why not, then sledding standing up seems only logical, and so does ending face first in snow banks that had no option but muffle our laughing faces. Because what would you do with all that silly laughter anyway…

The igloo was even lower than before so crawling was an adventure in itself. What better way to set out on an arctic exploration looking for prehistoric bones and rocks and plants trapped in ice? Believe or not, we found some.

We made our way out digging holes from the inside of the igloo with shovels that we could barely maneuver in the tight snowy igloo innards and crawled out through the other side. Outside again, lying on my back with the whole milky-white sky hanging low and not a care in the world, I thought of how far the three of us went on an afternoon that was reserved for nothing but playing in the snow. There was laughing, screaming, wondering, digging, exploring, and falling backwards. And repeat.

Minutes later, snow-covered boys with red cheeks throw their jackets and boots on the living room floor making big-eyed puddles and laughing silly. A worthy meltdown if you ask me. I hang them all to dry and think of that one more thing left to do with the next igloo: the sleepover. Soon, very soon…

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