December 14, 2013


The phone rings at 5 am. I then trudge into my little girls' bedrooms, manuevering my way through a minefield of opened books,wet towels,single shoes, my socks, spoons,and bowls full of some petrified mass that may or may not have once been spaghetti and I thought I told you no food in your room...

...and I search for their warm little heads buried beneath the covers. I push back their hair and whisper into their ears. The words every child longs to hear.

"No school today. Snow day."

Snow day. It means wiping the slate of Plans for Today clean and just letting the snow--and whatever else--fall all over the calendar. Now, without any kids in the house, I can experience the thrill of Snow Day without the agony of spilled hot cocoa, encrusted pancake batter, and layers and layers of wet clothes piled in a heap on the kitchen floor.

I got a Snow Day this week, the day after hitting my moody bottom in Pencilville. The Snow Day brought me this:

It brought me a glorious romp in the field with the dogs, who ran in a continuous spiral for 20 minutes, zeroing in only to get their treats. Which were snowballs. (Nobody ever accuses boxers of high level cognition, the kind that would make them realize that they could master their own treats just by looking down.)

Like the best snow days of all, the snow on this Snow Day was good-packing. Does anyone else remember this all important criterion? Good packing. It means the pickings will be ripe for a most excellent snowball fight, a great snow man, or a double-wide snow fort--in fact, I remember one fourth grade recess where the entire class worked on one snowball until all 30 of us could no longer push it forward.

Yes, in Michigan in the 1960s, unlike Pennsylvania in the 2000s, we went to school when it snowed. (We also had 30 kids in the class and apparently managed to learn how to read and write anyway.) We had recess on the playground, not in front of a video. Great recess in fact, because girls got to wear pants, if only under skirts and dresses. We were allowed to throw snowballs at each other, always mindful of The Boy Who Got Hit in the Eye by a Snowball and Went Blind (a close relative, no doubt, of The Girl Who Looked at the Sun During an Eclipse and Went Blind).

Oh, damn, I am just sentences short of lapsing into an angry post about what is wrong with childhood today. So I will stop here and say what I came to say: I love Snow Days.


  1. Wow, that golden light through the white is magic!

    1. And it really looked like that, no Picasa magic

  2. haha, the boldly stepping into childrens's bedrooms, 'tis almost otherwordly, apparantly that is the same the world over.....I have just walked down the stairs backwards lifting-from-step-to-step innumerable cups, saucers, glasses gathered in the boys' bedrooms, no wonder we have nothing to drink from in the kitchen cupboards;
    anyway how wonderful for you all this Snow!, after a couple of very cold days and nights here, the temparature has risen once again, so no snow for us folks. Love the pic with the snow covered cactus, will he survive I wonder?

    1. One of Himself's grown from a cutting that he has lost interest in. Now an experiment in Survival of the Fittest....

  3. this is a beautiful post.
    and i remember the exact same.
    and i am also GLAD that i now live alone.
    Just because we love something once, doesn't mean we need it for forever.
    but if
    i had
    kids...oh. OH YES! SNOW DAY

    1. What a great way to frame it, because I was feeling a little guilty that I loved THEN but love NOW too. Poof to that !