I'm updating for Three reasons.

One-I really wanted to use this icon

Two-I put the wrong "soul/sole" in my last entry, and it's bothering me a LOT, so I thought I'd post a new entry, pointing it out, instead of just editing the old one

Three-I wanted to write Katie a poem, declaring my love for her, but all I could come up with was "Oh how I love thee, let me count the ways" which was apparently already used.

Right. Soooo. Random thought to consider:

If you are poked by a fork, would you say you were poked once, or four times?

That's a wicked cute icon, just thought you should know. And it's only a little creepy that you want to write a poem declaring your love for me (I mean, I understand why you would want to, I'm amazing, but it's still creepy).
Last random note-It's being poked once since a fork is a single entity.

i cuncur w/ katie

Small feet followed big feet as we walked through the snow; he was several yards in front of me, but his tattered blue Buffalo Bills jacket made him easy to spot. Timberland boots created size ten craters in the snow, and I struggled to keep up as I jumped from footprint to footprint. I was a sight to see in my tee shirt, two sweaters, black snowsuit and fluffy pink Barbie jacket; I was so bundled up that my arms could barely move, but I trekked on.
We stopped walking once we reached the brink of the forest and he began to pack snow into his hands. I didn’t move. Blue eyes met hazel eyes, and he dropped the handful of snow. Before I knew what was happening, my feet flew from under me and the wind burned my face as my father spun me around. The laughter that escaped from my throat could be heard for miles, and though my eyes were squinting with glee, I could see my father’s face erupt into one of his rare smiles. In a very ungraceful fashion, we fell breathless onto the snow-covered ground. Our chests heaved up and down while our lungs longed for air.
After the laughter had subsided, my father grabbed my hand and sprung to his feet, pulling me with him. He instructed me to grab a handful of snow, and I obediently obliged. He kneeled behind me, wrapping his warm arm around my shoulders, and together, we packed the snow. We rolled the small psuedo-circular ball around in the loose snow that remained untouched on the ground. When we finished, the base was larger then I was tall. The same procedure was followed when we made the remaining two sections of our creation. My father piled them on top of each other to make a slightly crooked version of something I had seen on TV and in the movies but had never managed to accomplish myself.
Seemingly out of nowhere, my father pulled out a small bag of vegetables, and I silently wondered to myself if he had perhaps brought us a tasty treat as a reward for all our hard work. I clapped with joy and understanding when the t

I clapped with joy and understanding when the two grapes were placed as eyes, the carrot stuck in the middle for a nose and two pieces of celery were positioned in a v-formation to create a mouth. My ears were suddenly exposed to the crisp winter’s air when my hat was plucked from my head and placed atop the snowman’s head. We took a few steps back and admired our work. The only thing missing was a name, and my father had the perfect one: Jack.
The sun had already begun its decent to meet the horizon, and mom was ready to greet our return with warm blankets, hot cocoa and freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, so we began our journey home. I watched my purple snow boots jump from crater to crater and pondered whether Jack would keep my hat or if perhaps I would find it at home the next morning. My thoughts were rudely interrupted by the perfectly made snowball that hit my arm. I dug my hands into the snow and attempted to throw it back at my father. My heart sunk as I watched the snow fall gracefully to the ground, each and every flake missing my target. With his eyes twinkling and his freckled cheeks burning pink in the cold, he gathered some more snow, packed it together and gently handed it to me. Victory was glorious when my snowball hit him square between the eyes. After using his sleeve to clear his face, we began our trip home. Small feet followed big feet as we walked through the snow. I trailed several yards behind, but the sight of a tattered blue Buffalo Bills jacket let me know I was safe.