Behind the Scenes at the Snow Day

Snow is one of those things that seems like it should be more fun with kids. Like holidays, wrapping paper, or the beach. I mean, what better way to get your inner child on than to climb into five thousand pieces of clothing and head out for a day (or *cough* thirty minutes *cough*) of sledding, fort-building, snowman-creating, angel-making fun? Also, that magical shock (that I had this weekend for the THIRD TIME this SEASON KILL ME NOW), when I wake to that strange shining-on-the-ceiling light, and part the curtains to find the trees laden with snow--for a few seconds I can be entirely in the whispery present, like a five-year-old, before I start to think about things like where did I put the windshield scraper and how much earlier will I have to leave in order to get to work on time?

Only, like holidays and wrapping paper, the magical things of childhood are different when you're a sweat-stained stage hand instead of a rapt member of the audience. Yes, it's fun to wrap a bike in two rolls of wrapping paper and smile through gritted teeth as your eight-year-old rips seven dollars of wrapping paper into unuseable streamers. But it's not the same as actually doing the ripping yourself. Or getting the bike. So on snow days, even as I faithfully move the sets back and forth for every scene change (outside! inside! outside! inside! hot chocolate! dry mittens! zipped coats!), I'm always sort of wishing I were at a different show. Mom At Home Alone on Couch, perhaps. Or Freakishly Dry Fall Causes Holiday Season to Run Absolutely Smoothly.

So it was maybe with something less than hushed delight that I greeted the latest snowstorm (did I mention that it is the THIRD to hit Denver THIS SEASON?) Uggggh, I might have groaned. Not AGAINNNN. Also: Please take off your boots at the DOOR! And: No, you can't throw snowballs in the house!

I might have said something complainy and ungrateful about the weather, in fact. I may have considered blaming the weatherman (this actually happens, according to an interview with local TV weather anchors in this month's 5280--which: really? People, come ON). I may have disregarded all of my more spiritual (and childless--coincidence?) friends who believe stormy weather is a sacred thing, and who argue that accepting the local weather with equanimity puts you halfway to Enlightenment. I may have stormed weepily into the bedroom and refused to even think about putting on my own snowpants and lending a hand with the snow fort. I may have talked loftily about Laundry and Groceries and Somebody Has to Make Dinner, Here, and then been grumpy about making hot chocolate for the bright-cheeked, wet-socked little people who came piling in out of the cold.

But: even I couldn't resist the little person who came running out into the living room at seven a.m. and pressed her nose against the window. "Mom!" she cried in a delirious whisper, "Mom, it SNOWED!"

"Yes, it did, sweetheart," I said, kissing the top of her head, which smells like kittens. "Isn't it beautiful?"

Original post to Rocky Mountain Moms Blog.