OK, so I spent weeks wishing for snow, asking my friends and readers to submit pictures of snowy Christmases to cheer us all, brightening the drear and warming our hearts. And, on December 21, it snowed. It snowed all day in Cleveland. By the time I picked the kids up after school there were several inches on the ground, huge fluffy flakes still falling. The world was our snowglobe and my children hurled themselves to the ground leaving a trail of angels everywhere they went. We had an all-out snowball battle, my spouse and 4 year-old Noah on one side of the playground, my *nearly* 8 year-old daughter, Anna, and I on the other. We were absolutely giddy. For about 45 minutes.
By 4:00pm I was making cocoa for the kids, watching their joy continue through the kitchen window. Anna went to the front yard to shovel (much to my delight!!) and Noah came into the house cold and bored. When I suggested he grab a shovel and join his sis, Noah quickly went out the back door, while Anna came in the front, cold and done. I sent her back out for her brother (which I suppose, in hindsight, I should’ve done myself). We heard a harsh exchange of words between the children, then Anna returned to tell us that Noah was gone as she absentmindedly kicked off her snow gear.
Me: GONE? Like gone, gone?
Anna: Yeah, um, I can’t find him anywhere.
Someone, somewhere decided to shake our perfect snowglobe.
Having decided Anna was mean, Noah chose to run away, and, without telling us, had begun to trek through the blizzard to his friend’s house around the corner. In a flurry of coats and boots, Anna slipped my snowboots, I my rainboots (also at the door because it’d been such a rainy autumn), and we ran outside to track him down. My spouse began to follow his footprints in the snow (though I didn’t realize his tracks had been found). I searched all his favorite hiding places in the back and front yards. Then, I saw the abandoned orange mittens near the front door, and the path of footprints. Beginning to follow the footprints, I ran down the step (which is maybe 3 inches tall), turned my ankle inside my stupid rain boot, heard a snap from my foot, felt the pain, and sat down in a snow drift fully aware that I’d just broken something. Noah was found moments later, and help arrived to whisk me away to the emergency department.
Hours later my vicodin-laced holidaze began.
Christmas and the onset of 2013 went by in a blur, with a 4-year old tornado and a helpful, sweater-shrinking (but can’t complain much cause she did the laundry) 8-year old whirling about, and a dizzy mom with little-to-no mobility and even less motivation.
The kids had a good holiday – I think – but I have yet to enjoy the snow (I love winter – the smell of snow in the crisp air, the muffled stillness found in a winter hike). In 2013, I want to find the time to be in the moment; to be aware of my body in space (read: to be less clutzy); to destroy those bloody rainboots; to still the shaking snowglobe and learn to walk again. AND, I haven’t forgotten that I owe people prizes for submitting their White Christmas pics – I’ll set up a new, numbered video for voting in the next day or so.