A Spring of Joy

Together we play outside until fingers are numb and cheeks are pink, and we run inside to grab dry gloves and fluffier hats, so we can play outside some more. And when we come in to the warmth, our fingers tingle and our noses run, and we stomp on the floor to make our toes wake up. Then we strip off our snow pants only to find the pants underneath are soaking wet and those three pair of socks we put on can be wrung out.

We hang coats on hooks and throw gloves by vents and stack boots high on the bathroom floor, and we dodge puddles of melty snow to run upstairs and find sweatshirts and fleece pants and wool socks for our feet. Then we fill mugs with steaming hot cocoa that’s warmed in the crockpot all morning, and we add some marshmallows and candy canes. And we feed more wood to the fire, watch it glow, and feel the warmth of it all.

We feast on yummy breakfasts like pear tarts and organic eggs and sausage with coffee (just a sip for Bella girl and Bear), and we eat junk food like con queso with chips and popcorn with lots of butter and salt (but at least I make it homemade with fresh butter, right?). And we watch far too many movies like Tom and Jerry and Snow Buddies and Dragons Riders of Berk. And maybe, just maybe, we eat dessert after supper, just this once… or twice.

And the kiddos sleep in, and I get my work done early while they’re in dreamland so I have time to play with them. And we play games like Chess and Scrabble and Uno and Yahtzee, and we read good books and follow that goings on of our friends on Facebook who are reveling in their snow days, too. And sometimes I say to them, “Not now, y’all. Mom has to rest.” And they view me with knowing eyes and a wisdom that belies their age, and they tuck me in for a nap and find another book to read while I rest.

There are times when I fuss at the mess in the bathroom, the cluttered piles of scarves and hats, the mud that melted from boots, but by the afternoon when we’ve come in for the third time, I stop the fussing and realize that it’s all going to get cleaned up soon… when the snow is gone and the kids are in school again and we aren’t frolicking through our days like this. And the beds go unmade and the hair may or may not have been combed this morning, and the laundry sits in a basket, folded but not put away. And it doesn’t matter. Not these days.

Because these days we are reveling in each other, in being together. And we are arguing and bickering and apologizing and forgiving. And we are laughing and crying and tickling and racing. We’re throwing snowballs and sledding down hills and attacking Daddy and sneaking up on Mommy and filling our days with each other. We’re eating snow and making angels and breaking off icicles to lick, and I’m telling them stories of when I was a girl and did these very same things. We’re petting the horses next door and walking the whole way to the back of the yard to play in the fort at the bottom of the hill and forgetting time in a winter wonderland.

Even poor Ash, who’s been sick with a fever and headache, joins in. He sits on the couch and waits for us to come inside again and asks questions like, “What was the fastest you went, Bear?” “Did you get a snowman built?” “How deep is it?” “Did you bomb Dad?” and “Tell me all about it.” And we do. We sigh deeply and throw ourselves on beanbag chairs and talk about how cold it is outside, and then we take a moment to pray for those who do not have homes and we ask for them to find warmth somewhere…because they are missing so much warmth not having a home. And I don’t mean physical warmth. They are missing the warmth of all this.

Tomorrow the snow days end. I am sad about this. I will miss the puddles on the floor and the boots piled high. I will miss the snuggles and blankets and shining eyes. I will miss the togetherness, the being, the laughter and noise.

But for now.. I will heat up some leftovers and we will watch one more movie (a short one this time) and we will snuggle together (except poor, sick Ash… we’re afraid to snuggle with him) and we will revel in the moment. This moment. This gift.

It is today for which I am thankful.

God still owns tomorrow.