My snow day was snowless. I didn’t make a single snowman, sled down a single hill or throw the first snowball.
That makes me sorta sad.
When I was little my dad used to hear “snow” in the forecast, toss us into the 4-wheel drive and out to the mountains we would head. One year he stopped and broke off an icicle the size of his forearm to satisfy my sister and I as we complained of being thirsty.
I’ve sledded on a brand-spanking-new-radio-flyer. I’ve been on tubes, pieces of plastic, foam sleds and skis. I’ve hooted and hollered as I headed down hill. I’ve laughed until happy tears froze on my face. I’ve wore duck shoes before they were cool. Before duck shoes I wore sunbeam bread bags on my feet to keep them dry. I’ve built snowman and engaged in frozen warfare. I’ve had wintery fun. I’ve been adventurous. I’ve squealed as I raced downhill. I’ve tossed a rope over my shoulder and trudged up the hill again and again and again. I have.
This year I made soup.
Oh, and I mopped watery puddles off the floor. I found gloves…even if they didn’t match. Everyone had a toboggan on at my insistence. I insisted on the annual “snow picture”. Check. Check. Check.
And I made soup.
I thought about going out…I did. But then I sipped my hot tea, hoisted up my fuzzy pajamas and looked at one more line on the spreadsheet. Every once in awhile I looked up and out the window when the giggles broke my concentration. But I didn’t step out a single time. It was nice to work on a project that required quiet and dedicated time. It was extraordinarily wonderful to do said project in the comfort of my jammies. I adored getting wet baby-girl kisses every 50 lines. Hearing, “Santa Claus is coming to town,” being sung over and over by a precocious 3-year old as she traveled up and down the stairs to check on everyone made me smile all day. At one point my puny 14 year old crawled into my lap and tucked my his head on my shoulder. It was a fine day. It was.
But snow days aren’t supposed to be FINE. Snow days are days matter the lines between adulthood and childhood blur. Snow days are happy days. Snow days are gifts, hidden gems when it is okay to trade responsibility for adventure and swap the button downs for layers of sweatshirts and scarves. Dads orchestrating sneak attacks with wet, hand packed snow balls, babies catching snow flakes on their tongues and slip sliding across the driveway….thats what snow days are about. Family fun. Unexpected adventure.
I made soup. And it wasn’t even very good soup.