One of my favorite sounds the people make is that last sigh before they pass out in this world and cross over to dreams. I put them to bed every evening and wait for that release to make my creeping tip toe out of their room and into my own peace and quiet. Tonight, after what for me was an absolutely incredible day, save the final Metallica blast freak out performance by my overtired, overwrought, juiced up three and 3/4 year old, I put the girls in their beds and waited. The youngest, she of epic meltdown fame, passed out so quickly I was still talking to her. She fell asleep sitting up, propped by pillows and lulled by the sound of the Miami sound machine (of course it wasn't Miami Sound Machine, that stuff is too high energy, but I cannot help but call the white noise nature sounds the MSM) but Lily, the oldest sweet pea wanted to recount the details of her glorious day and reassure me that, after the earlier insanity, I was indeed a decent mother. (Thank you, Lily.)
The day really had been incredible. After waiting out the blizzard inside watching Barbie videos, doing massive craft projects, and coloring book marathons, we were finally free this morning to get out and dip into the powdery white stuff. I can't lie. It was awesome and took me right back to the Blizzard of '78. I remember walking in my backyard and saddling up to the five foot fence that protected the yard and standing over it. The reflection of the light on all that white snow made it look and feel like we were all on some luminescent planet. I thought to say the moon, but I suspected that it was too dark, like all the grainy photos showed. Jumping into those snow drifts with the girls made me giddy out of my mind and seeing the joy on their faces, their rosy cheeks, their elation was contagious.
I am often asked, especially when faced with crummy weather, too much rain or snow or cold, if I miss my life in the Caribbean. Frankly, the answer is resoundingly NO! I have always loved the seasons. I think it's what we all say when faced with the furthest corner, pointiest angle on the weather dial in each season--too much rain or snow or cold, no one ever gets crazy about the heat asking if I'd rather be in Barbados, maybe because they recall that I told them it could be stiflingly hot on fire and disarmingly humid. But I do so love a change of season and even more to live in each one of them and feel fully what each has to offer. Whether that is the hottest hot summer, allergy-provoking spring with rain, rain, rain, and more rain, chilly falls with those deliciously colored leaves, apple picking, and outdoor sporting events where it's just a tiny bit too cold, and then this. Powdery, fluffy, scary, freaking-everyone-the-fuck-out snow!
As it's falling, there is that nervous energy, expectation, hope, fear that it just might get too much to handle. Once we're safely inside the house watching it from the window, it makes everything around us look so peaceful, so calm, so still. After, there is the shoveling, the removal, the clearing away, when the air takes over your lungs, and it breathes in so clean and blue, and everyone looks beautiful in that light. It feels like that freezing cold water you jump into after sweating it out in the steam room. It hurts a little bit, is completely shocking, and then you feel incredible that you dared do it, handled it, and can get back up and sweat it out again. Falling into a pile of snow, a huge bank of it, feels like falling into the clouds. It makes you giggle and that silliness is infectious. The girls and I spent the morning making snow forts and chairs and throwing snowballs, marching our tracks into the deep banks, and (for those two) eating, eating, and eating snow!
The highlight of today had to be the sledding. Lily walked over with some friends and Virginie and I followed behind. Following behind meant Virginie walking a little, being carried a little or a lot, then walking or trudging through the snow, being carried, walking and arriving at a hill across from the town hall where dozens of kids were sledding their faces off. Really. Everyone was red and ruddy-cheeked, all smiles, and laughter. Lily must have gone down that hill twenty times, forwards, backwards, spinning around, over bumps and hills, flat terrain. Virginie and I worked as a team and went down probably ten times on our own. Each time we got to the bottom, we laughed and smiled, jumped up and raced back to the top of the hill. When we'd finally had our fill, the three of us walked home with our good friends and had an early dinner, beer, wine, wicked conversation, full on play for the girls. All of which ended with the terrorizing, "I'm so crazy I am going to make you wonder if you are a good mother" fall out proffered by the three and 3/4 year old tired out of her brain.
By the time I was back in my own room, make up off, snuggled in the bed, reading on line, writing, and watching TV, all was forgiven because really, nothing could take away the joy from this beautiful, snowy day.
(c) Copyright 2013. Repatriated Mama: Back to the Suburban Grind.
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