I pulled the blankets over my head and was thankful that the school delay last week gave me a few extra minutes to sleep. But I quickly realized that it was going to be impossible to sleep through the children running up and down the stairs, yelling “snow!” loudly and repeatedly.
Although the grass was barely covered, it was enough to warrant a Christmas morning excitement from Laurel and Trevor.
Growing up in Florida, I didn’t see snow until I was 25. And one of the things I am glad about as my children grow up in the Triangle is that they get to have snowball fights and build a snowman, even if it is only a few days a year.
I reluctantly hauled myself out of bed and began searching for my snow gloves, because I knew I would regret not playing in the snow with them. After all, it’s always possible that we could not see the white stuff again for several years – or we could get 20 inches next week.
A little while later, I found myself wearing my barely used snow boots and pulling their sleds down the street. Even the small dusting was enough to bring hordes of children out to take their sleds down the neighborhood hill.
And watching them zoom down the hill with huge smiles on their faces, I decided that getting to experience snow through their eyes was definitely worth forgoing an hour of sleep.
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