frost on the windshield

Murphy's Law insists that the first time I have to scrape frost from my windshield during any given fall-winter season must also be a day that I am in a rush to catch the train. So with the minutes ticking away, I am violently attacking an impenetrable layer of ice with a scraper that resembles a plastic butter knife. I'm wondering for the millionth time why I live in the Northeast instead of some warmer, gentler climate (have I mentioned Belize?), and then I remember...

frost on the windshield
I remember my son's
first steps