When I was eight, I lived in the desert. My dad was working up in the mountains two hours north and we looked forward to family weekends on Friday nights.
One particularly memorable Friday evening always stands out in my mind. My dad had filled the bed of his truck to the brim with snow before he headed down the mountain and a little bit of it still remained.
We couldn’t believe it! I remember the dizzy rush of excitement I felt as I ran inside for chalk. I wrote on our sidewalk, “Yes, this is really snow!” and put a big pile of it next to it. Within minutes it was gone and I felt a split second of anger that I’d been robbed before realizing it had melted.
We moved up to those mountains shortly after that. We spent every remaining childhood (and teenage, and young adult) winter traipsing through the snow. I skiied on a class field trip, took family sledding trips to Booger Hill, sloshed through dirty slush with my mom as we braved lines of Christmas shoppers, snowboarded with my friend Heidi in the ditch behind her house, built snowmen with my brother, used a movie theater gift card to scrape snow and ice off of my windshield before driving to school, did snowy parking lot donuts with Ryan and walked hand-in-hand along snowy hiking trails. Snow is a big part of my personal history.
It makes me pretty happy to see that snow is also part of my children’s history now too. It’s part of their history, this family’s history, our history. For years and years we will laugh about a great snowball fight or a happy sledding adventure. Every single winter we will laugh about old winter memories as we sip hot cocoa, play board games around a fire, snuggle up under blankets on the couch, watch a rabbit bound through the snow. It brings me a lot of comfort to know that we could lose every thing we have but our memories will forever and always be ours.
Ryan and I spent last weekend smiling. We would laugh as the same pattern emerged every hour or so. The little guy would bring us his boots, then run off to find his gloves, then hat, then coat. He’d set them all up together in a pile and then point at them and say “Eh? Bweeee? (playyyyy) Eh?” We’d bundle him and ourselves up and we’d head out to the backyard where he would stomp through the untouched snow, throw his ball and laugh at it for not bouncing, throw snow into the air and watch it fall, beg us to pull him on the sled.
The coolest part, we later remarked, is that it’ll only get better. When I pictured being a mother, I basically pictured myself parenting a three year old forever. I never imagined so much fun during these early days or the exciting kid phases way up ahead. This excitement is so fun and wonderful to watch, but it’s also limited. Eventually a snowy day will mean snowmen, snow angels, mini igloos and forts, a family sled trip down a big hill.