On this day, the never-ending day of snow, we were summoned to Milo’s room at 5am, soft white light flooding in through his windows like it was mid-morning rather than barely dawn. “Look! Mr. Sun is out! It’s morning-time!” I guess it was, technically. Now, one huge pot of chili, two loaves of bread, two excursions into the dredges of snow, three attempts at snow-removal by Andrew, five-million attempts to get Oliver to nap for longer than 15 minutes, and a few cups of delicious hot-chocolatey-goodness later, it is dark again.
I love this. I love snow, feeling slightly claustrophobic as the level of snow rises above solid bottom panel of the sliding-glass door. To me, snow is no nuisance. It is cozy, delightful. Nothing puts me in the Christmas spirit more quickly than a foot or two of snow. I get it, if you’re older and can’t get around very well, snow probably sucks. Luckily I’m not quite there yet. Snow is still magical. MAGICAL!
The igloo that is our front yard
And unless the temperature suddenly rises and we have to deal with flash floods… this magic could stick around for Christmas.