"Hey, munchkin," Jake said affectionately as he walked into the Woodhouse's home.

Three-year-old Emma was merrily building a Lego tower on the living room floor. Her head snapped up at the sound of his voice.

"Jake!" she squealed excitedly, jumping up and wrapping her little arms around his legs.

He grinned as he picked his young friend up. She shrieked in glee as Jake spun her around.

"Higher! Higher!" she begged.

Jake grinned and obliged for a few minutes before he finally put her down and pretended to groan. "I won't be able to do that much longer, Em. You're getting too big."

Emma's eyebrows shot up and she frowned petulantly at his words. "I won't eat my vegibles and then I won't grow bigger," she suggested.

"You don't have a choice, kiddo," he said with a laugh as he tousled her blonde hair. "Your daddy will make sure that you eat all your vegibles. Speaking of food, I'm feeling hungry. Did you see where Aunty Blythe put the sausage rolls?"

Emma pointed a chubby finger towards the kitchen and Jake's green eyes lit up as he spotted a familiar Tupperware container.

"I'll be back," he murmured as he headed to the kitchen. Christmas lunch seemed like such a long time away. He'd just have a sausage roll or two to tide him over...

His mother must have some sort of radar because she appeared seemingly out of nowhere and playfully slapped her son's hand as he reached for the Tupperware container.

"I told you to save your appetite, Jake," she teased, as she moved the container away from her boy's outstretched hand.

"Aw, come on, Mum. I'm so hungry," Jake groaned, giving his mother his best puppy dog look.

Blythe shook her head resolutely. "Trust me, you'll be glad you saved room when lunch is ready," she promised. "I'm making a feast."

"Do you need help with anything?" Jake asked, wondering if helping his mother might make Christmas lunch ready a little faster.

His mother saw right through his scheme and she smiled.

"Thanks, honey, but I have it all under control," she said. "Why don't you go play with Emma for a while? She's pretty good at entertaining herself but I know she loves your company."

...

"I brought a special DVD for you, Em," Jake said, popping it into the DVD player.

Emma's hazel eyes lit up and she clapped her hands. "What is it?" she breathed, glancing curiously at the case that Jake held.

"It's called Frosty The Snowman," Jake responded.

Emma stared transfixed at the screen as the film played out.

Although he wouldn't admit it, it was one of Jake's favourites too and he enjoyed having the excuse to watch it again.

"Did you enjoy that, Em?" he asked as the credits started to roll.

She nodded her head thoughtfully.

"But, Jake," she asked hesitantly, "where is our snow?"

"We don't get snow here, munchkin," Jake said gently. "Well, in the colder parts of Australia we do, but not in Sydney. We'd have to go travelling if you want to see what real snow looks like."

Emma looked disappointed at this revelation and Jake could sympathise. He remembered wanting to see real snow when he'd first seen the movie too.

"Lunch is ready!" Blythe called then, and Jake grinned at his little friend, all thoughts of snow forgotten. Or so he thought.

"Come on, kiddo. Let's go get some food!"

...

"That was delicious, sweetheart," Peter said in appreciation as they finished tucking into the pavlova that Blythe had made for Christmas dessert. She hadn't wanted a repeat of last year's trifle incident and she'd decided to go for something less messy. Well, there was the whipped cream but she'd guarded the can carefully until dessert was served.

"Yes, Blythe, that was lovely. Thank you," Henry Woodhouse added graciously.

Blythe smiled. Henry was so fussy about what he ate, so she had devised a special menu just for him – boiled potatoes instead of roasted, plain broth instead of creamy vegetable soup, a few slices of turkey breast (sans gravy) and a fresh fruit salad instead of the pavlova. But she was glad that he'd enjoyed it.

"Mum, can I have some more whipped cream?" John asked, holding out his dessert plate.

"May I," Blythe corrected automatically. She was an English teacher by profession and correcting her kids' grammar was a bit of a habit.

"May I have some more whipped cream?" John repeated with a sigh.

"Yes, you may," Blythe said, looking around for the can. "Where is the whipped cream?"

"Izzy had it last," Jake said and all eyes turned towards the older Woodhouse girl.

"I don't have it anymore!" Isabella exclaimed defensively. "I just took a little bit and then I put the can down... next to Emma."

It was then that they all realised that three-year-old Emma had left the table. And so had the can of whipped cream.

"Oh, no," Blythe said in distress. "I hope she's not eating it – she'll make herself ill!"

Jake closed his eyes and groaned silently. He had a feeling he knew what Emma was doing with that whipped cream.

Sure enough, they found Emma in the living room, painstakingly squeezing mounds of whipped cream onto the dark blue carpet.

"Emma! What are you doing?"

The three-year-old looked up innocently. "I'm making a snowman," she replied, as though her creation should have been obvious to them all.

"His name is Frosty."

Blythe turned to stare at her older son, well aware of his penchant for the popular children's film.

"Jake... do you know anything about this?"

He shrugged sheepishly. "I just let her watch the DVD, Mum. I didn't know she was going to try to make a snowman!"

"I hope this is going to come out of the carpet," Mr Woodhouse said anxiously, his brow furrowing.

Emma looked slightly crestfallen. Nobody seemed to be appreciating her snowman.

"Don't you like my snowman, Jake?" she asked sadly. "I made him for you."

He might have been a fifteen-year-old boy but his heart melted a little bit at that comment.

"It's a great snowman, Em," he said truthfully.

It did actually look surprisingly lifelike – considering that the sculptress was a three-year-old and she'd been working with whipped cream.

"But I think I'll have to take you to the snow so that we can build a real snowman next time. Would you like that?"

Her hazel eyes sparkled in delight. "Yes, please!"

Five years later, Jake Knightley took Emma Woodhouse to the Snowy Mountains, where they spent an entire afternoon building an army of snowmen.

And although she enjoyed the novelty of finally being able to play with real snow, eight-year-old Emma still thought that the original Frosty she had created at three was the best snowman that she'd ever made.

Author's Note: Thanks to iambbq, Stephy-Lou-Clark-Weasley, Lady Dudley and megs for reviewing the previous chapter.

I've never actually made a snowman before – but, like Emma, I'd love to give it a go someday. =)