It's snowing outside...
...must be at least 17 inches of snow visible through the frosted, nose smudged window. (well maybe only 5 for real) My brothers and I are all huddled around the radio, hoping and praying for our school to be called. Jackpot! No school today. We finish up our hot chocolate and slip into big winter coats, boots, scarves, hats, gloves (tube socks will make do if we can't find our gloves), and we are ready to seize the snow day!
I'm going in!
We step out the door and the cold air slaps me in the face. I give no thought to my parents who are struggling for ways to keep the house warm, or ways to prevent the pipes from freezing, or ways for Dad to get back and forth to work in the snow...or for ways to keep all seven of us fed. I didn't know, and I didn't care. The snow was delivered specially for me and I'm going in!
After 58 minutes and 37 seconds of sledding, building snowmen, and fighting off older brothers in the snowball fight of the century, my hands are frozen. I've had as much fun as a snowy-eyed nine-year-old can have. Once inside, as I begin to warm, the pain begins to set in...My fingers are frozen!
...surely I'm going to lose a few fingers...
My mother rushes me to the bathroom and runs cool water over my hands. I stand at the sink and try not to cry, fingers burning. I am convinced I caught frost bite, surely I'm going to lose a few fingers, but all the while my mom whispers to me, "It's ok. You're gonna be alright."
My snowy childhood memories all seem like a fairytale to me now, but I still love the snow and I still think getting only a single inch of snow is just Mother Nature playing a cruel trick.