I can accept a lot of things about living in Canada in the winter; the short days, the bitter winds, the malfunctioning snow-blowers, hats that re-define goofy, the recycling bins taking flight in a blizzard never to be filled with crushed diaper boxes again but I draw the line at frozen snot.

We went for a family skate at the local rink. Our outdoor options are limited given the weather, our lack of proper sub-zero attire, the fact we have a baby who is still steadying herself on land and most equipment doesn’t come in 18 month size.

We load everyone into the mini-van with promises of a hot-chocolate thaw within the hour and we toss them onto the ice. The dance music in the background while an excuse to gyrate around the ice like crazy people acts as a warm-up and I’m secretly ecstatic it’s on.

The baby bundled in an extra sweater, socks, fur slippers, snow suit, fur hat with flaps settled in her umbrella stroller is used by first time skaters as a walker to maintain some semblance of balance.

 My pockets are filled with gently used tissues mixed with a few new. You can’t call yourself a Canadian Mother and not have at least a small collection in one or both pockets. In those moments when the children’s noses are dripping through their helmets, it’s irrelevant if I’m wiping the wire cages clean with a pre-dampened Kleenex. It’s been used by some member of our family and for that reason, it should bring the children some snot-smeared comfort.

Greg is the first to complain about his feet being sore and he quickly removes his skates, resting on the bench. This often happens in parallel with two neighbourhood Dads hopping the boards with their NHL jerseys and race around backwards as if they’ve just been given news they have made the travelling all-star team and will be starting line-mates in tonight’s televised game.

I slide over (in my boots) to find the baby parked against one of the boards, abandoned by an older sibling who was first excited to use the baby as an adorable scoocher but grew tired of the additional wheels and parallel parked her the first opportunity she had.

I knelt down with a tissue to dry the baby’s nose but there was nothing to dry. How could a Canadian child on this, the coldest day I can remember not be dripping with booger juice?

Upon closer inspection, the answer was thick but clear. The snot was frozen solid. This I have never seen before. Powdery, cream coloured bits, not to be confused with glued on Cheerio power as seen at the bottom of the box or on our family room carpet. Snot had cycled from a solid to a liquid to ice to an ice powder.

“Hot chocolate time kids!”

Things just got weird.