Snow Day

The day started early in the morning with footsteps up the stairs: Mom got the phone call. She stuck her head through the doorway: “Snow Day,” she grinned. As a teacher, she got the day off too, and her excitement was contagious. Immediately I flipped up the window blinds to see the proof. It was true: white clung to our trees, our cars, our driveway and our streets. I blissfully returned to my slumber.

I awoke to the smell of cinnamon: “Monkey Bread” was our sacred sweet treat on snow days. It was a dish of sticky, doughy, deliciousness, and its entirety would most likely be gone by evening.

My sister Maddy, Mom and I piled on the big red couch for a Real Housewives marathon. We laughed at the ridiculousness of the bickering reality stars, and debated whose side we were on of the latest brawl. Getting out of pajamas wouldn’t even be considered.

Eventually our leisure was interrupted with responsibility: the driveway needed to be cleared. The big tupperware of winter gear was lugged from the basement and snow pants, jackets and boots were rotated between us.

My dog Reilly, a black lab we got when I was 6, loved the snow. If there was a large accumulation she would look like a bunny, leaping through the snow around our yard. I was thrilled with the fact that she didn’t seem to know the difference between playing fetch with a ball vs. a snowball.

We share a driveway with our next door neighbors so on snow days there would usually be a few of us out shoveling. It didn’t seem to make a difference to me: the snow was heavy, my jacket too hot, my hat too itchy. I usually got stuck with the job of clearing the back deck: a job small enough for the youngest of the family but time consuming enough to keep me out of my mom’s hair. I remember purposefully shoveling the snow off in to one spot, so I could jump off the deck in reckless fun but land with safety onto the snow pile.

After our snow responsibilities were fulfilled, we trekked into the basement to peel off our damp layers. Mom immediately made hot chocolate to warm up our cold hands.

We would reconvene on the red couch: maybe a movie would be next on the agenda, or a board game. Cabin fever might have settled in by then, my sister and I resorted to gigglish companionship. Snow days didn’t follow a meal schedule, so a frozen pizza would be popped in the oven anytime we saw fit. With the driveway cleared and our bellies full, I remember the warmth in the living room despite the cold outdoors.