Fat, fluffy flakes have frosted my neighborhood, covering the still-red maples with snow in a bizarre picture of mixed seasons. Two weeks ago it was 70 degrees and sunny. My wisteria, clematis, and bachelor buttons were all in bloom. Now they are wilted and covered in a icy blanket. The season shift has left my head spinning, but I love it.
The first snowfall of the year always leaves me feeling elated. I prance around the house in my pajamas, singing “Let It Snow” with a goofy grin on my face. Usually my husband, Mike, looks at me like I should be an inmate at a mental institution, but this year I have had two co-conspirators in my snowbound bliss. Tommy, our 2-year-old, was thrilled with the snow and spent the better part of the day watching it from the window. The rest of the time he spent insisting:
“I go outside! In the SNOW! Get my SHOES! Play in SNOW!”
Our 6-month-old, Seth, just thought my foolish singing was hilarious. He laughed and drooled as I spun him around the room.
The problem is that the white stuff almost immediately loses its charm for me. Slushy, icy sidewalks? Not fun. Frozen door locks and wiper blades? No thank you. Wet, cold feet and salty, slush-covered toddler shoes? Nuh-uh.
So, I’ve had my fun first snowfall. Now spring can come along any time now.