When I was a small child, I loved snow days. A chance to play outside in the snow drifts all day and skipping school? Sign me up.
As I got older, I lived nearly a decade in the sun belt – South Florida and then Arizona – and the joy of snow went away. It might not have been just because I lived away from snow for so long, but rather the fact that spending time outside playing in frozen water lost its appeal.
Fast-forward a few more years and now we own a house and have to shovel our own driveway, sidewalk and front path. And then with little boys who take about 30 minutes to get all gussied up for playing in the snow – warm clothes, double socks, snow pants, snow jacket, waterproof gloves, hat, and hood. Then, boots, and OH MY GOD, WE FORGOT TO HAVE THEM GO TO THE BATHROOM FIRST.
Start over. At least they don’t have to take the socks off.
Pure joy as they play in the snow. Until someone ends up throwing snow in the other one’s face. And then one glove comes off. Snow gets up the sleeve. Snow gets down the neck. “MOMMY!”
Then, after they come back inside, removing all the snow clothes without covering the room in snow that comes out of every crevasse. Then the bathing and reclothing and before you know it, you’ve lost your entire day. Add a dog into the equation, and you find yourself calling outside, “Don’t touch the yellow snow!”
While it’s snowing, though, there’s a serene beauty. Not as many cars on the road, and all sounds are muffled. Just flakes of white coming down, coating over everything, turning them into mere shapes under a thick quilt. The world is at peace.