In my head, I’m sometimes still a little girl. A little girl with big responsibilities. This is especially evident when it comes to any relevant amount of snow. The next morning, I find myself checking local television reports to see which school districts are closed with a ping of excitement.
Snow days just aren’t the same unless it snows enough to cancel school.
Yesterday was exactly that. I awoke to a blanket of blinding white shining through my windows. Like a kid, my first instinct was to peek outside at how many inches accumulated. It was calling for the young in us to play, to build snowmen, to sled. It was also calling for hot chocolate and cozy pajamas and staying warm indoors.
When you’re young, the snow doesn’t seem as cold. It’s simply spread in front of you like a pure, open canvas. Exciting, fun. And there you are, bundled up in so many layers you can barely move. The difference between being a child and now, with children of our own, is that there’s also the other side. Instead of snuggily sleeping in until noon, I’m awake by 8 a.m. regardless. J missed a day of work because of the conditions. He trudged outside and shoveled the driveway. The car had to be defrosted. I had to restrain Buzz from running outside in barefeet and shirtless. Daily chores still need completed, diapers still need changed. The brightness of the snow settled into a migraine later that afternoon.
In my head, I may sometimes be a little girl playing for hours in the snow. In reality, I’m a mother getting pelted by snowballs from her children, but quickly ready to go back inside where it’s warm.