We welcome February with snow. Not a blizzard, but enough to cover the lawn and keep me home from work. Little Big Boss (LBB)(13) and That Dude (TD)(11) happen to have a scheduled day off from school that day, so technically not a “Snow Day” (with a capital “S” and a capital “D”), but a day with snow, at least. I am excited to survey the white world outside when I awake, knowing I don’t have to go anywhere and that LBB and TD don’t have virtual learning to tether them indoors. Our last decent snow had been about two years ago–and marked a sweet milestone: both LBB and TD were at last both self-sufficient in putting on their own gear AND they finally stayed outside for longer than they spent gearing up. We were past the days of my painstakingly layering them up only to have to speed-strip one or the other down for a sudden potty emergency before ever making it out the front door. We were past the days of their chubby chilly cheeks sending them retreating inside for cocoa after 20 minutes of play. We had finally made it to the Fun Zone, when a day in the snow could be enjoyable for all–even Mama. Hurrah! And then–of course–we didn’t have a respectable snow for two more years. Womp, womp, womp. Welcome to the mid-Atlantic, where each winter can bring a little snow, a lot of snow, some snow, no snow–who knows?
So I’m thinking here’s our chance: the end of the 2-year snow drought, no work for me, no school for them. Big Daddy and I had the foresight as winter approached to ensure that everyone had winter coats and snow boots that fit. I am a little uncertain about our inventory of snow bibs–LBB appeared to have shrunk during quarantine and TD had definitely grown. (Maybe they could just swap? Big Daddy’s insistence on sticking with gender-neutral snow bibs is starting to seem pretty genius.) But I grow more optimistic as I haul up from the basement our considerable snow bib stash: surely each of them would find something suitable among the bounty. I am up early to get coffee going. I cook a big breakfast, hoping that we might just need to fuel up with eggs and biscuits for the hours in the snow ahead of us. Big Daddy had been working overnight, so I also need to go out and make sure the driveway is passable for him on his return. When I emerge from the house, shovel in hand, the snow is still falling. I can feel the flakes landing gently in my hair as I work: the benefit of preferring ear muffs to hats. I breathe in the cold air deeply, enjoying the morning quiet and repetitive productiveness of clearing the drive. Work now to play later. A preview of the fun to come.
Big Daddy arrives home safely, showers, eats some breakfast, and then lays down to rest–his typical post-midnight shift routine. Safe to say he is not coming out to play in the snow any time soon. LBB and TD both get up sometime in the nine o’clock hour and wander downstairs separately for breakfast. Both comment on the presence of snow outside, but neither appears in any hurry to get out there. They’re just waking up, I assure myself, despite the doubts now starting to buzz about my brain. There hasn’t been a snow opportunity like this in ages, and we’ve been cooped up around here for almost a year. They’re definitely going to want to play at some point, right? I play it cool, giving them time and space to feel the call of the great snowy outdoors for themselves. I write a letter to my penpal (a 7-year old across the street who likes getting snail mail), sharing the woes of being a mom to a tween and teen who don’t seem to like spending time with me so much anymore. I inform her that it’s OK to do things on your own, that you should do the things you want to do and have fun doing them even if no one else wants to do them with you. I believe what I have written, but I wonder–heart a little heavy–whether I really have the courage to live what I have written.
Fast forward to 1 p.m. They’ve eaten breakfast. They’ve eaten lunch. They’ve putzed around on computers and phones and the Switch for plenty long. I essentially order them to come play in the snow with me. They groan and roll their eyes and make flat tire sounds and secure assurances that I will make them hot chocolate with marshmallows AND whipped cream once we come back in. An appropriate bargain is struck. We identify the correct snow bib for each child. We retreat to our respective rooms to gear up. I am teary-eyed as I step into my bib. Was the Fun Zone really just a one snowfall event two years ago? The perfect balance of self-sufficiency and snow enthusiasm was destined to arrive and depart in a single day? I push away my blues before they can settle in any further.
Out in the yard with my babies, we forge paths for the sleds, an operation which involves me taking a hold of the rope attached to the saucer and lugging a kid across the snow until the trench is established enough to support free sliding. But I used to be younger and they used to be lighter, so I am not quite feeling the Fun Zone vibe yet. We sled for a bit–it’s an icy snow that makes for some slick running even on the little hill in our yard. They seem to be enjoying themselves. Yay! Then TD’s spirits dip when he hears the sound of laughter from the “good hill” across the street. In the Before Times, we would have been sledding away over there with neighborhood friends, but we’re still keeping largely to ourselves. The kids veto my suggestion that we find a way to head over there and still keep our distance. Too complicated. Stressful for us. Less fun for our friends. I realize the kiddos are probably right.
We head for the backyard for a bit to explore what the snow has done there. Ice over snow means the snow comes off the square tops of the deck posts as ice bowls and off the top of the tree stumps around the fire pit as ice platters. A phenomenon they’ve not seen before. Cool, but only cool enough to hold their interest for a couple minutes. TD declares himself ready to go inside after about 45 minutes total. I reluctantly release him from my well-intended clutches. LBB hangs in there with me somewhat longer. The coast is clear at the playground across the street, so we sled on the hill (more of a gentle slope, really) over there for a while. The snow is so icy that we glide more than halfway across the open field that fronts the playground. I sled on my stomach. I am a penguin! We take a break to go swing on the swings, and talk about the joy of swinging. We sled some more before heading home. I am satisfied with our outing, yet feel like I am at the cliff’s edge of the Fun Zone.
Once inside again and out of my snow gear, I deliver on my promise of cocoa with the works for both TD and LBB. I sit down by the fire after dinner to relax with a book, but can’t concentrate. I have the sudden notion that we should go night sledding. Yes! Even if the snow has lost some of its daylight appeal, the lure of sledding in the dark has got to inspire them for a Round 2, right? Wrong. No one is remotely interested in coming back out with me. Big Daddy, now pretty well rested after having worked the night before, still looks at me like I’m nuts. TD and LBB both take a hard pass. I sink back down into the couch, and sheepishly take another crack at reading my book. I promptly give up again. I still want to go outside. The thrill of whooshing down a snowy hill wins out over my reluctance to sled alone. I suit up once more.
The sledding paths we carved in the front yard earlier have gotten slicker now that it’s dark and the temperature has dropped. Snow is falling lightly again and stings my face just a bit as I zoom down the hill over and over. The course is running faster and faster, sending me careening into the middle of the street on some runs. I indulge in nearly half an hour of non-stop solo sledding in the dark before my sense of self-preservation wins out over my love of being a penguin. I am happy and tired, but not ready to come in. I light the bio-ethanol tabletop fire pit Big Daddy got me for Christmas and sit on the front stoop for another half hour watching the wind push the flames this way and that, and the new snow fall onto the old snow. My rear end is nearly frozen to the concrete by the time the fire dies out and I rise to head back inside. But I feel a little less like I am on the cliff’s edge of the Fun Zone and a little more like I am still me.
Brownie Stew 