Sometimes when I was kid, up in the middle of the night with a chance of snow hovering over my head, I wouldn't peak. I wanted to savor the excitement until morning. I wanted to open my eyes in the early morning light and take inventory of the light coming into the room. If it was just...so...you knew; knew there was at least a thin blanket of white beyond those blinds. I would hop up on the bench between my dresser and desk, the one under my window, and peek through the blinds (the ones my mom made awesome by cutting an art poster of cat in strips and decoupaging to each plastic blind so that when the blinds were closed you saw the cat, but when they were open you didn't see anything) with hope in my heart. If I saw snow, I ran downstairs to be the first to sit in front of the TV and watch the school closings run across the bottom of the screen.
Sometimes I couldn't resist. Sometimes I snuck into my sister's room, the one with the windows that faced the street, and peered out into an eerie, bluish-white night. I got that same feeling of excitement I had when I was I kid when I peered out last night and snuggled back into the bed knowing that we all get to stay in bed for a little longer than usual.
Two years ago, we were so sick of snow we thought we'd never want to see it again. Last year that wish came true. And just like a kid who "runs away" from home and realizes within 20 minutes that home is awesome, we wanted our snow back. Last night we got it; just a tease, but we got it.
Sweet Pea looked out in wonder and I couldn't wait to take her out to play. We couldn't play in our Christmas Eve snow because it was sloppy and gross. This snow was glittery and powdery and soft and beautiful. I drank caffeinated tea and we were playing by 9:30.
|Geese huddled on the lake. I wanted to take them hot chocolate or something.|
|Sock mittens. Because Mama can't find the real mittens.|