White Delight

The delight of our weekend was about an inch of snow, to which we awoke on Friday morning. Fortuitously, Friday was an in-service day, so the kids had it off from school. Despite my plans to sleep in, the whispered word, “Snow!” in my ear by my husband at 6:30am was sufficient to propel me from bed.

A cup of hot coffee and a newspaper when the world is pristine and white is downright luxurious.

Because our mornings are so dark now, I had to point the snow out to them. They were all very excited. Within minutes, by 7:30am, they were dressed to go outside.

Jack ended up being outside almost all day (from approximately 7:30am to approximately 4:00pm). He never gets cold. Meanwhile, Ellie and Sabrina go in fits and starts. I got Evan bundled for a snow-outing and he seemed to enjoy it, but I had his hands so bundled up, he couldn’t grab anything, which I think really cramped his style.

You know your kids have started to acclimatize to sub-arctic conditions when they wander out into the snow in their bare feet.

You also know your kids have acclimatized, when at 25 degrees, they are shedding coats and hats. One of the neighbor kids was wearing her snow pants with a short sleeved tshirt. Crazy.

Oddly, I always find it a little warmer when snow it on the ground. (When outside with Evan, I wore loafers, cords, and a wool sweater. It was perfectly fine. When we came inside, the house felt HOT.) I’m not sure if this is a psychological phenomenon or if there is a scientific reason for it. Bruce said something about solar rays bouncing off the snow. He’s only guessing, but it sounds good to me.

Anyway, it is a delight to see white. There is just something so… soothing...? peaceful…? about it.

I am eager for more, and have been watching the radar both carefully and obsessively. Last year our snow was very disappointing because the temperatures kept rising above freezing and it would all melt.

So this year, I’m doing a snow-dance. I’m employing the same method that I used two years ago for our first winter in Alaska. Aloud to God, or the clouds, or whoever makes weather decisions (a butterfly in Africa, perhaps?), I taunt, “I don’t think it really snows in Alaska…. Prove it.”

That year, we almost met the snowfall record for Anchorage.

“I don’t think it really snows in Alaska. You’re just making it up… Prove it!”

(This year, lets break that record!)