I'd heard all about Mom and Dad's famous death marches, but I'd never been on one. Until yesterday.
Dad's version of the death march usually starts with the phrase "we can make it into a loop if we take the next trail," or, "it's just another 20 minutes." Mom's version usually involves checking just one more restaurant for a better menu or just one more (and then one more) location for a better view.
Regardless of how it starts, it usually ends three hours later than anticipated, with the participants tired and hungry and needing to go to the bathroom very badly. Lucky for me, I can sleep just about anywhere, and my Seventh Generation diapers are extra absorbent.
So when we left the house at Sunriver for a quick snowshoe jaunt with our friends Mark, Meghan, Owen, and Jason, I didn't mind when it turned into a full-blown death march. I was super cozy snuggled with Mom in the Baby Bjorn carrier, zipped up in Dad's down jacket.
I was napping when the horse-drawn sleighs went by, but Mom told me about them later.
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