Get ready for an overload of snow pictures. Every successive snow day we had, I'd think to myself that I had taken plenty of pictures during the last snow day and I really didn't need to go out again. So I planned to stay safely jammi-fied in my cozy, warm house. But the kids (the youngest three, anyway) always wanted to go out and play in the snow. So I would get them mummi-fied in all their snow gear and they would tumble out the door.
And I would rejoice in the stillness their absence made. I'd bustle around getting things done. But after a bit, I'd find myself peering out the window at them in the winter wonderland, watching their antics and industriousness. I could see their smiles and imagine the animated conversations they were having. And then I could no longer stand the thought of not going outside with them to share in all that cold, white joy. Pure happiness in powdered form.
They'd show me all the tunnels they dug, and the snow piles, and the beginnings of warped snowmen. I'd clean the snow out of B's gloves . . . and boots, and hat, and neck. And tell her not to eat the snow because it would make her too cold. She'd ignore me and continue to eat the snow with gusto.
We'd try to entice the big girls to come outside with us. Every once in a while we'd succeed.
And we enjoyed that snow like we might never see it again. And then we'd get tired and go inside to strip off all of our wet things and settle in to enjoy some hot chocolate. And I would rejoice in the memories we made that day.
And when the next snow day came along, we would repeat the entire process.
I love this life. And I love this man for making it all possible.
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