It's still coming down, only the flakes are larger now. This morning as I let the dogs back in I stepped out on to the porch for a moment to watch tiny white specks mingle with the drizzle that was falling. The world was so quiet, all sound muffled except for a very soft shoosh-ing sound as the rain/snow made contact with the ground. The rain gradually gave way to a full snow storm which covered everything in sight with a thick layer of heavy, wet flakes.
I know I will have to deal with icy roads, snow shovels, sopping wet boots and gloves that leave cold puddles on my floors. There will be cutting wind, frozen noses, and childrens' jackets shed and left in a pile rather than hung on the hooks provided. I know all that comes with white weather. We have lived with it for a few years now.
I know these things, but do not allow my thoughts to linger in their company. Those thoughts are pushed aside and quickly replaced by a sudden desire for hot chocolate and Christmas music. The world has been clothed in brilliant white and looks so fresh and new. The old tree in our front yard has been embraced by snow on one side only - leaving it's dark trunk exposed on the other. It is so very beautiful.
I anticipate a cozy morning of snuggling under blankets on the couch, reading aloud to my children the new book I have been saving, a quiet, sleepy day of looking out our windows at the sparkling wonderland that surrounds us, while being enveloped by the toasty warmth of our new home...
Then the children wake. I hear excited voices and loud thumping on the stairs. Like a crash of rhinos they rush into the living room. For a brief moment five little faces are pressed against the windows surveying the scene outside.
Remind me to wash those windows later. As quickly as the room filled it was emptied again. Children in pajamas and bare feet were now outside dancing around in the wet, white stuff. They weren't quiet about it either.
Oh my goodness! What will our new neighbors think? So much for my cozy, peaceful day.
We are not ready for cold weather, much less snow. Snow pants, boots, scarves and mittens were still packed away in moving boxes. Had they been packed neatly and clearly labeled making them easy to find? Of course not. We live in a new
place, but
I am the same old me. The search was on. Baby Joey has not been well and decided that I should spend my morning holding him in my arms. This left the chore of locating snow clothes and boots to my older children. They did a pretty good job. In short order children were decked out in snow pants that almost fit, mismatched gloves, and an assortment of boots that I was reassured would keep toes warm until I could buy new ones.
Anytime there was a break in lessons the children slipped outside where they made trails, huge snowballs that got bigger and bigger as they were rolled down-hill, snow angels, and a sign, in cursive no less, that said UFOs land here.
The children eventually came in with happy, frozen faces where they were tucked into blankets on the couch, given mugs of hot chocolate, and were read to from a new book saved for just such an occasion. There is a pile of wet boots and jackets on the floor by the door begging to be picked up. And I am feeling sleepy and content in the toasty warmth of my new home, peering out the window at the sparkly wonderland that surrounds me.
