Kristin E. Andersen's Word Studio

Foster the Snowman Rescues Winter

The snow started on a Tuesday. Snowmania was abuzz with excitement.

“It’s the big one!” roared the headlines. “A veritable blizzard! One for the record books!”

At Snowman H.Q. there was a flurry of activity.

“Calling all snowmen! Calling all snowmen! Report for duty on the double!”

General Sleet went out to review his troops.

“All right, you snowmen, this is it – the moment you’ve all been waiting for. Are you ready?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Carrot noses?”

“Check.”

“Top hats?”

“Check.”

“Brooms – you call that a broom, solider? Listen up, troops. A snowstorm like this only comes along once in a life time. I don’t want anyone melting on the job or losing your head, understand? And nobody better flake out.”

“Yes, sir! No flakes, sir!”

“I want you to be the jolliest snowmen you can be. Get out there and win one for Old Man Winter!”

With a salute, General Sleet sent his troops into the storm.

“Excuse me, sir. Even me, sir?”

“What? Who are you?”

“Foster the snowman, sir.”

“Lieutenant Slush, what’s the meaning of this?”

“You did want everyone on this mission, sir.”

General Sleet shook his head and sighed. “So, you’re telling me –”

“He’s everyone, sir.”

“I see. Well, Forster – ”

“That’s Foster, sir.”

“Well, Foster, do you have what it takes?”

“I, uh, that is – ”

“This isn’t some passing squall, you know. Children are counting on you. They don’t want to just go outside and get cold. They want to frolic and have fun in the snow. A real snowman wouldn’t let them down. Are you a real snowman?”

“I, uh – well, you see – ”

“Get out there, son, and make us all proud.”

Of course, this was Foster’s first time on the job. He took out his map, summoned up his courage – and tripped over his scarf.

“How am I ever going to make it as a real snowman?” he sighed.

It didn’t help that his snowman uniform was a hand-me-down several sizes too big. Or that he kept sneezing. He had allergies, after all.

He checked the address once more. This was the place. Remembering General Sleet’s instructions, he went to the yard next to the tiny house with the sagging roof and the jauntily tilted porch. And he waited.

And waited.

There was plenty of snow, but where were all the children?

The snow fell in big, fat, feathery flakes. It fell on his head. It dusted his cheeks. It drifted down past his – oh-oh. There went his nose again.

“Uh … uh … achoo!”

“Did you just sneeze?”

He looked around but didn’t see anyone. “Wasn’t me,” he said.

“Was so.”

Foster sneezed again.

“See? Told you.”

Finally, Foster noticed the little girl looking up at him.

“Gesundheit,” she said.

“Thank you,” said Foster.

“Whoever heard of a snowman who sneezes?”

“I’ve got allergies.”

“What are you allergic to?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“Go on,” said the girl. She crossed her arms and started tapping her foot. “I’m waiting.”

“All right, but you can’t laugh. I – well, that is – I’m allergic to … uh … snow.”

“What? How can a snowman be allergic to snow?”

“Well, I am and that’s that.”

“Your nose is crooked, too. You’re a pretty lame snowman, if you ask me.”

“Well, I didn’t ask.”

“Suit yourself.” She started to go.

“Wait – you’re right. I’m not much to look at. They weren’t expecting the storm and they didn’t have a uniform in my size. Could you maybe – ”

“I’m no miracle worker,” she said. But she fixed his nose, gave him a nip here, a tuck there.

“Thanks,” said Foster.

“You got a name?”

Foster introduced himself.

“Mine’s Esmeralda. They call me Esme for short. That’s because I am.”

“What?”

“Short.”

No wonder he didn’t see her at first. She was a tiny thing, but she did seem to have a big personality.

“You’ve never been here before, have you?” she said.

“No, I’m new at this.”

“Well, you might as well go back wherever you came from. We don’t have much use for snowmen around these parts.”

“Why not?”

“Look around. You see any kids?”

“Just you,” he said. “Where’d they all go?”

“It’s a secret.”

“Are you serious?”

“Okay, it’s not a secret. It’s as plain as this.” She pointed to her nose.

“Now, Esme,” said Foster, “your nose isn’t that plain.”

“Look, when they were handing out schnozzes I got the short end of the stick but I don’t let that get me down. There aren’t any kids out here because they’ve lost the knack.”

“The knack?”

“For playing outside. They’ve forgotten how. Snow is so much fluff to them.”

Foster was horrified. “You mean they don’t build snow forts anymore?”

“No.”

“Or make snow angels?”

“Nope.”

“They don’t go sledding or have snowball fights?”

“No and N-O spells huh-uh. I’m the only kid around here who does but it’s no fun by yourself. You ever try and have a snowball fight for one?”

Foster shook his head. Granted, he really wasn’t the fighting type.

“It’s a real snooze, let me tell you,” said Esme.

“I’m sorry,” said Foster.

“Well, don’t cry for me, snowman, you’ll melt your face.”

“I’m not crying. It’s my allergies, they’re really – uh … uh … achoo! – acting up today.” This time his mouth fell off. While Esme put it back on, Foster thought how awful it would be if all children stopped playing in the snow. Winter would go the way of the buggy whip. Or the rotary dial telephone. Or reliable a reference book.

“Do you know what this means?” he said, when he could talk again. “We could be replaced by Wikipedia!”

“Huh?”

“Snowmen are practically obsolete!”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“Me? Why me?”

“Somebody has to.”

“You’re a kid. You speak their language. Why don’t you?”

“I’ve tried. They don’t listen.”

“Anyway, I shouldn’t even be here. I’m the worst snowman there is. They wouldn’t have sent me but Frosty had a temperature and Buttons is still in rehab. I was all they had left.” Foster sneezed again.

“Your nose is going to fall right off, if you keep that up.”

“See? I’m not cut out for this. I should be home reading a book. I don’t do well when I miss my meals.” He sneezed several more times – until his nose did fall off, along with a couple of buttons. And his hat fell down over his eyes.

“There, there,” said Esme, picking up the pieces. “Maybe it would help if we put our heads together.”

“Yours comes off?” said Foster. “I thought only snowman heads did that.”

“No, no. I just mean maybe there’s a way we could solve this problem together.”

“That’s a really good idea.”

So, they did some brainstorming.

“Scare them out?” suggested Esme. “I could run through their houses with your head under my arm and you could make spooky noises.”

“It’s not nice to scare people,” said Foster. “Why don’t we send invitations?”

“That’ll take too long,” said Esme. “I know, let’s bribe them.”

“Isn’t bribery illegal?”

“Not if it’s with food. Kids love food.”

“Do you have any food?”

“No.”

“Maybe if we reasoned with them,” Foster suggested. “You know, appealed to their intellect.”

“Who are you, PBS? Worms might be good, though.”

“Worms?”

“If we stuck worms up our noses they’d come outside. At least till the novelty wore off. Then, maybe we could let them stick worms up their noses and they’d stay out a while longer.”

“I’m probably allergic to worms,” said Foster. “Anyway, I don’t think winter is worm season.”

“Oh, yeah. You might be right.”

They couldn’t agree on anything, until Esme said,

“Wait, I’ve got it. Let’s put on a winter carnival.”

“Perfect,” said Foster. “I love it.”

“Okay, I’ll get the kids and you get ready.”

A winter carnival sounded like so much fun – there’d be music and snow sculptures and snacks like snow cones and snow punch. It would be fantastic. He wished General Sleet could be there.

Esme came back with a bunch of kids. They stood around Foster and waited.

And waited.

“So where’s this winter carnival?” somebody asked.

“This is it,” said Esme. “Okay, Foster,” she whispered, “you’re on.”

“What do you mean?”

“Roll out the rides, the dancing bears – you know, all that carnival stuff.”

“Dancing bears?”

“Hey,” someone said, “nothing’s happening.”

“I’m bored,” said someone else.

“Just a minute,” said Esme. “Quick, Foster, juggle something. Do a magic trick. The natives are getting restless.”

“Juggle? I don’t know how to juggle.”

“This carnival’s dumb,” someone complained.

“I’m cold,” complained somebody else.

“Send in the clowns,” whispered Esme.

“Clowns?” Foster’s nose was starting to tickle again. “I thought you were taking care of all that.”

“I thought you were.”

“Who are you talking to?” someone asked.

“Nobody,” said Esme. “Mind your own beeswax, Arthur.”

“What kind of lame snowman is that anyway?” said Arthur. “His hat’s too big. His scarf’s too long. His nose is crooked. He’s not a real snowman.”

“He is so real,” said Esme.

“That isn’t even a real broom,” said Arthur. “It’s a mop.”

“Oh yeah?” said Esme.

“Yeah,” said Arthur.

Foster sneezed.

“Told you he’s a fake,” said Arthur. “A real snowman wouldn’t sneeze.”

“He would if he had allergies,” said Esme.

“Allergies? What’s he allergic to? Snow?” Arthur laughed. “You guys, is that the stupidest thing you ever heard of or what? A snowman who’s allergic to snow.”

Everybody started laughing then.

“Oh yeah?” said Esme. She picked up a handful of snow and threw it in Arthur’s face.

Arthur picked up some snow and threw it in her face. Then everybody started throwing snow.

“Mayday! Mayday!” Foster radioed Snowmania H.Q.

“Is that you, Forrester?” said General Sleet.

“Foster, sir.”

“What’s the matter, son?”

“Something terrible is happening, sir. The children – they were talking among themselves a moment ago. Now they’re throwing snow at each other. And they’re running around and – ”

“What is that?

“What?”

“That noise in the background.”

“That’s the children, sir. It’s mayhem here, sir. I may need reinforcements.”

“That’s not mayhem, Frobisher. Listen to that. That’s music to an old snowman’s ears.”

“It is, sir?”

“Don’t you see, son?” said General Sleet. “That’s just what we’re after. Good work, my boy. I’m putting you in for a medal.”

He wanted to ask why but just then a snowball knocked off his nose and his hat fell down over his eyes.

Esme ran over to help.

“Thanks,” he said.

“No, thank you,” she said.

“I didn’t do anything. I’m sorry about the winter carnival, Esme. I didn’t realize there was so much to it. I hope you’ll let me make it up to you somehow.”

“What are you talking about? It’s a huge hit. Everybody’s having a blast.”

“They are?”

“Yeah, just look at them.”

It was true. The kids were all laughing and playing. Some were building snow forts and throwing snow balls. Others were making snow angels. A few were sledding off the porch, which wasn’t so much jauntily tilted as downright crooked, like Foster’s nose.

“Foster,” said Esme, “this is the best winter carnival ever and it’s all because of you!”

“It is?”

“Of course!” She kissed him on the cheek and ran off to join the other kids.

Watching them, Foster finally understood. It doesn’t matter if your nose is crooked or if your hat doesn’t fit quite right or if snow makes your nose tickle. It was snowing and children were outside having fun. Maybe, just maybe he was a real snowman, after all.

“Uh … uh … achoo!”

“Gesundheit!”

Oh well, at least with all these kids around, there’d always be someone to put his nose back on.

THE END