Snow down

It is a snow day - our first of the year. J has been up since her normal weekend time, which I can only assume is 7-ish since I slept until almost 8 (we assumed schools would be closed, and J now goes right to the basement to play with the Wii rather than waking us up, God bless her).

After an enormous cup of hot chocolate with marshmallows, she rushed out to play with the neighbors in the snow. She has been playing ever since. Though she has been busy, the simplicity of her day reminds me of the beauty of childhood.

Think about the book The Snowy Day, where Peter has an adventure comprised of making tracks in the snow, climbing a small hill, and knowing that he is too young to have a snowball fight with the bigger kids. He returns home to a hot bath and a period of contemplation about his day. It's enough to put him right to sleep, presumably after a nice dinner. This single-strand pace of Peter's story relaxes me.

I see the same in J's own adventure. She takes the time to compare and contrast a dry marshmallow to one moistened by hot chocolate. She slides down our back hill, first on a sled and then just on her knees. She watches the boys and their frenetic activities as the wind swirls sparkling snow around her, kissing her cheeks pink. She and her friend B come inside for lunch, and discuss chicken nuggets and the unique properties of ketchup and honey. After one more round of Mario Kart, it's back out into the snow to experiment with the wagon.

The bracing cold will make the warmth of her bed tonight even more delicious than usual, as will the memories of a fantastic free-play day, far away from the usual tight schedule of school. I can imagine now the peace on her sleeping face when I kiss her goodnight, the slow deep breathing, the silent room warmed by the space heater.

This snow day reminds me to appreciate the intensity with which children experience their world, and how they do so one step at a time. It is yet another gift parenthood provides free of charge.