Oh my freaking gawd. We're drowning in snow, and we're getting more. We're freezing our buns off. There's really nothing to do...except watch Junior's trains go around the Island of Sodor.
I'm afraid that one of these days I'm going to go to the Island of Sodor and never come back.
I can't complain too much though. Really. Junior is happy to pass the time pretending to be Sir Topham Hatt. About 20 times a day we overhear this from the living room:
That Fat Controller is so critical. And loud! Curiously loud. I was interested to see how Junior was able to throw his voice so well, so I checked in on him.
At least the damn breast pump is good for something.