I love snow days

When I first wake up. It is cozy to lie in bed (usually next to a sleeping child) and revel in the knowledge that I do not have to wake up a warm and sleepy little person before they are ready to be woken up. Because I have never gotten past the “do not wake a sleeping baby” mantra. It feels as if I am going against nature to wake up my babies. Even if the youngest of them is 6 years old. I hate it. It makes me want to cry. Anyway. On snow days they wake up by themselves. Far earlier then they usually do. Every time. Without fail. And they have no interest in sleeping in. So much for that.
Then I go downstairs and I see the chaos that awaits me. And the sheen melts off the glory of the snow day, just a tad. And then comes the drama of outfitting everyone to go out into the backyard to check out the snow. And someone has lost their glove and someone else inexplicably developed a huge hole in their boot overnight, and the other person grew 4 inches overnight and the snow pants won’t fit. And it all starts being a little bit less delightful.
And then they go play outside. And it is charming and sweet and lovely and cozy once again. And then they all traipse inside. And leave the back-door open, and muddy up the kitchen floor, and start dropping wet snow gear all over the living /mud-room/entrance hall/everything room and I realize how insanely small my home is for the needs of 4 (soon to be 5) children, and I get all claustrophobic and panicky, and wonder what we were thinking by choosing charm over space, and freak out and think that snow days bring nothing but chaos and discontentment.
And then they want to go to the sledding hill. And so begin the negotiations. The chores, they must be done, the house it must be returned to it’s former state of livability, the nourishment, it must be consumed. And so begin the counter-negotiations, and the weeping and the wailing about the one who is doing all the work while the other “just sits and looks out the window”, and the mother who is all kinds of torn because she does not really relish the idea of stuffing herself into snow gear and going into sub zero temps, but also does not wish the children to miss out on the opportunity to be out in the sub-zero temps, and is frustrated that they are bringing this sad fate upon themselves.
And the whole damn snow day seems like a giant pain in the neck (and psyche), quite frankly.
And then finally, the chores they are done, and the house is somewhat livable and the sandwiches and fruit have been consumed and the bundling has wrapped up, and the dog has been gathered and off….we….go.
And then I stumble through the snow, wrangling a dog who is apoplectic with joy (and determined to give me a dog-sled ride, minus the sled), an over-sized belly, an over-sized camera, clumsy mitten-bound fingers and a face which feels as though it will freeze off at any moment, and wonder why I ever thought this was such a magical idea.
And then I look up and I watch and see this….

I took this photo to check out if there were any serious casualties after this most spectacular wipe out involving Finny and friend. I was relieved to zoom in and see Finny’s happy face at the bottom of the dog-pile. (See, this is the real reason I wanted the zoom lens).




And I fall wildly and passionately back in love with snow days. And then we come home and drink hot chocolate and I hope we will have another one tomorrow.

I'm reading: I love snow daysTweet this!