Saturday, January 25, 2014

Southern Snow

The ENTIRE week of school was cancelled for snow days.  The first day it never snowed. I found myself shaking my head in disbelief as I sat listening to the weather forecast of the threat of two inches of snow potentially headed our way as school closings started to post and news cameras flashed video of half crazed people flooding the grocery stores stockpiling milk, eggs and bread. Despite this being my 17th year living in Richmond, (Oh my god, that seems like a very long time. Does this mean once I live longer in the south than in the north, I am officially a Southerner? Will I become those zombie shoppers hoarding milk at the talk of a snowflake? That thought will be saved for another blog post.)  I began telling the story again to my kids how in kindergarten I used to walk a mile to school in snow that often times rose far above my winter boots. Yes, I was completely aware of the significance of telling a story like this. Yes, I sounded old and yes, I recall annoyingly rolling my eyes at my parents when they told me the same sob story; but alas, it is true! I did walk a mile to kindergarten through fifth grade and in upstate New York, they NEVER cancel school. NEVER. There were times I drove home from college that the weather was so bad I found myself praying because I could not see inches in front of me and I was afraid if I stopped the car I would be buried alive. Being raised in snow country gives you an elevated sense of ego once you move to a warmer climate. Snow? I am not afraid of a little snow, bring it. However, I think Richmond has one snow plow and a few bags of salt which makes my over-elevated snow driving ego deflate a bit and instead of four wheeling through back roads, I choose to stay indoors as the weatherman is begging us all to do. 

So for the past two days, here has been our morning conversation.

"MOM, where is my hat? MOM, where is my other mitten?"
"MOM, this sock is bothering me. MOM, this scarf makes me itchy, I want another one."
"MOM, where are my snow pants? MOM, I cannot get my foot in my boot."


Cole either sensed that I was very close to my breaking point or he actually heard me cursing under my breathe, and said, "Thanks for getting us ready every morning mom. We love the snow." That made me reel in the nasty attitude a bit as we waddled our bundled selves to meet friends to go sledding. 

As I watched the kids laugh and run and race down the hill as my girlfriends also cursed snow days and mountains of wet clothes scattered around their house as we waved happily to our red cheeked kiddos, I felt a wave of gratitude. Grateful to be able to experience the joy of a sled ride vicariously through my kids, as I could feel myself in my bright pink snowsuit flying down the hill in my backyard years ago. I hope I thanked my mom for getting me dressed and undressed and dressed again. Probably not, I think I will call her tonight. 

Love & Light,

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