Day 22 – Snow day

When you’re an adult, winter snows are more hassle than magic. You find yourself thinking about things like shoveling the sidewalks and how much of a pain it’s going to be to put on your boots and coat to drag the garbage cans out to the curb. You dread driving, knowing that if school and work aren’t canceled, you’re probably going to count on your commute being doubled if you want to navigate the partially-plowed streets and get where you need to go safely.

Today, we got a rare snow day here in Lincoln, and without the usual pressure of actually having to go out and try to drive on the freshly-zambonied streets, I had a moment to look outside and appreciate the stark beauty of the freshly falling snow.

What always strikes me about a good snowfall is the silence–how the whole world seems to pause and hold its breath for those few hours, fat white flakes drifting down lazily from gray skies.

As kids, we lived for snow days. I remember how intently we used to watch the accumulation, how many nights we used to go to sleep quietly praying for classes to be canceled so we could spend the day out in it doing what kids do. The best years were when we still lived in Bird City, Kansas. The town was small enough that a healthy level of shenanigans were often tolerated. Packs of errant children traveled from house to house, building snowmen and forts, hurling snowballs at each other, and leaving snow angels in our wake.

The streets in Bird City were so wide that the snow was often plowed and piled high in the middle of the streets. Those looming piles served as sledding hills. They also became launching pads when we rounded up sleds and inner tubes and tied ski ropes to the back of someone’s pickup truck. One year, our babysitter Kaylee and some of her friends pulled us all the way out the Thresher Show grounds. The kids piled in the cab of the truck to thaw while some high school boy took his turn on the inner tube. I remember us all laughing as the driver spun doughnuts in the big empty field, the boy on the tube holding on for dear life as the tube slid and bounced and occasionally took flight.

I remember one year, when my family was still living in a small bungalow on Bird Avenue, the snow fell and blew and drifted so high that it reached the eaves of the house and garage. Lindy and I had finally reached the age where Mom was letting us stay home alone without a babysitter. My friend Mandy came over mid-morning, and we were having a blast trying to build a snow fort when I noticed a few of the drifts had gotten so high against an old outbuilding behind our garage that you couldn’t even tell where the tin roof ended and the snowdrift began. We could reach the edge of the roof by climbing the the gate of the dog pen and hoisting ourselves up over the edge. We spent an hour or so carving out a winding track from the peak of the roof to the edge, where we piled and packed a large wall of snow which we thought would keep us from flying off the edge.

I climbed to the peak of the roof, set my inner tube in the track, and launched myself down, screaming in delight as I picked up speed. It was the closest to an Olympic luge I will likely ever get and I loved every second of it, even when I hit the wall of snow at the roof’s edge and flew, inner tube and all, into the air. The snow below was so deep and powdery that it absorbed the shock from my less-than-graceful landing. I emerged from the snowdrift howling with laughter and scrambling, fast as I could, back up onto the roof to try it again.

We had a good hour or two of uninterrupted fun until my parents showed up to put a stop to it. Of course one of the neighbors had called them at work to give a full report of what we were up to.┬áTypical small town for ya–doesn’t matter what you’re doing, good or bad, your parents are bound to find out about it within the hour.

And that was the end of it. I was banished to the house for the rest of the day and lectured on how I better just stay away from that old building from now on. It was bad enough that we’d spent the better part of the morning climbing up to the peak of what was probably a 20-foot roof. But worse was the fact that the building belonged to a gentleman named Edgar, who just happened to manage the bank where my mom and Mandy’s dad worked. like to think Edgar was amused by our ingenuity. He never came out and said anything to us, but he would always smile and wave a finger at us when we stopped by the bank after school to beg our parents for snack money. And he let us spend a lot of afternoons there, pounding away on the old typewriters in empty offices or sorting loose change in the old hand cranked coin counter.

Even now, that was probably my favorite snow day ever. Staring out the window today, I still smile just thinking about it. And you know what? I have zero regrets.

Bring on the Tooth Fairy

There are so many days when I have to catch myself, take a pause, back up, rewind, and remind myself that Cadence is still very little. She’s not so little in size. I swear the girl grew six inches when Stevie and I left her at Grandma and Papa’s to spend three days in the hospital having Henry. It’s like we came home and she was a completely different kid.

But in spite of the fact that the girl is growing like a freakin’ weed and is a really, really good kid (yeah, she really is, even her pain in the butt moments are few and far between), she’s still our 5-going-on-6-year-old baby girl.

One of the fun things about Facebook is that every now and then a blast from the past photo will pop up. This one hit my newsfeed today, taken four years ago when Miss C wasn’t even 2. I remember it vividly. It was the first day my baby let me put her hair in pigtails, and I couldn’t help but snap a few pictures of the cuteness as she played for hours in the new toy kitchen she’d gotten for Christmas, babbling to herself in her baby voice as she stirred together pretend soups and chatted on the phone to imaginary friends.

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I smiled when I saw the photo, and I was just about to hit the Share button, when my baby girl came bounding down the stairs in a tizzy of excitement to show me the gaping hole where one of her baby teeth had been. She’s been waiting for one of them to fall out for more than a year, working the wigglies with her tongue and sometimes rocking them back and forth or tugging on them with her fingers. She’s been watching all of her classmates sporting ever-gaping Jack-o-lantern grins, often wondering aloud if she was ever going to lose her teeth.

And then it happened. She was brushing her teeth tonight when suddenly she felt one of the baby bottoms break lose and slide into the space between her lip and gum. She fished it out and came running to show it off, flashing me her newly-landscaped grin and I felt time stop for a moment as I waited for the camera to focus on the face that was no longer my baby, but my big, growing girl.

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