The Stewarts Family (and other shenanigans)
Sims player fourteen generation deep into a legacy. Here's their story! Also, art and builds.
In winter the sun never goes really high up in the sky. It stays there, looming an inch over the horizon, bright but foggy, magical.
No one else is foolish enough to step foot outside by these temperatures, so it feels like I have the whole neighborhood to myself, with those big, silent monuments that are the houses around. Complete silence except for the cracks of the snow, white as far as the eyes can see. I’m all alone!
A truly beautiful day for snow angels, indeed.
Not sure I’ll ever get bored of doing this. And it’s surprisingly freeing to let yourself fall down, on purpose. Then just waving your arms and legs around like a beached penguin.
I end up shutting down the computer, and slamming the office door behind me. Wholly fed up with office politics, I’m looking for a way to cool down… And I find it really easily. I’m going to cool waaaaaay down.
It’s a winter wonderland outside. The decorative trees in our backyard are glowing faintly in the late morning light, and somehow, even though it’s very cold, the sun is shining bright on the coat of snow.
And the pool… The pool is shimmering, the bluest blue I’ve ever seen it. Inviting. I dip a foot in it, to check… Not so much checking the temperature as my ability to withstand it… And then I fully immerse myself.
It takes me a few lengths to decide I swam enough and I want to wrap myself in warm clothes, but these lengths were more than enough to clear my head. I feel cleansed and relaxed, and I breathe better, in more ways than one.
Morning has risen, and so have my siblings. While Cyril stays inside all day, wrapped in blankets near the chimney, Cléo ventures outside to admire the snow. And Mom, who apparently never gets tired, joins her to help her build a snowpal.
I’d be lying if I said I’m not sort of annoyed that their snowpal turns out miles better than Dad and mine, or Gram and mine.
In the meantime I’m inside, neither building snowman or, no matter how tempting, throwing marshmallows at my brother. I am scrolling through dozens of emails I missed during my day spent outside yesterday. Work emails. A whole chain, clearly sent to me by mistake, as they are not kind to me, or my personality. It’s the winter break for museum employees, but I can guarantee things are gonna get heated before the break is up.
No doubt in my mind Nounou would join the fight if he could.
I have to admit Mom is a MUCH better snowball-fighter than Dad. This time, at least, it’s an even fight. She opens fire with a well-aimed blow, that I skillfully block, then parries my own riposte at the very last second.
It’s a fight for the ages, and it goes on for, oh, at least a quarter of an hour. I don’t know who won exactly in the end, but I’d say it was the stitch in our sides from laughing so much.
Also, the cold seeping through the fabric of our gloves.
I’m finally happy with the shape of my angel, when I hear the front door open. Turns out, not everyone in my family was asleep. Mom is standing there, looking at me visibly amused, with the seasonal sweater I know she’s been dying to wear for months.
“Stand up kiddo!” she says. “Your dad said you beat him in a snowball fight yesterday. My turn.”
It’s a duel!
I’m freezing cold by that point, and I could finally go warm up inside. Or sleep.
But nah. Let’s do the thing that makes me happy instead.
When I finally arrive home, at something like 3AM, I’m greeted with a jaw-dropping surprise.
It’s my neighborhood, but I barely recognize it. There’s an ambient glow in the air, reflected by the bright white layer of snow, an impossibly stark contrast with the darkness of the sky.
How could I resist the pull of letting myself fall into the snow, to draw my very first snow angel.
The Stewarts Family (and other shenanigans) 