Last night, Zac told me we could probably expect snow sometime around 1am. I was wrapped burrito-style in our nine-year-old comforter, wearing Emily's knee-high card suit socks, shivering beside him, reading The Help. In the past, our Southern Snow has been mere icy raindrops, melting upon contact, refusing to stick. The ice that did stick was nothing more than a frosty death trap. I looked out the window at 1am to disappointing darkness. At 6am, Zac's alarm went off. He, like me, gets excited about snow, so I felt him roll away to peek out the window. "Oh, man," he said, "you're going to love this." I'm still picturing the ground covered in melting ice in my head, but took the chance to look anyway. Love it much I did.
I'm not a morning person. Or maybe I like mornings, but don't like getting up early. It's one of those. But, this morning, I was out of bed and in the kitchen to reach outside and feel the snowflakes falling before I even put on pants. By 6:30am, I decided to take the risk of waking the kids so they could see the "fluffy snow". My kids have seen the ice snow, but none have ever seen the fluffy snow. The big kids were asleep, but let me persuade them to "just look outside real quick, then you can go back to sleep." Leah was out the door without a sweater or socks to run around before I could get her back in a bundled up. Then, I woke up Elias, who was not at all happy about that, but let me wrap him up to show him the snow. He asked for "swedder on? shoos on?" and I brought him outside. It's been a magical day. Top it off with having the day off work because it's too icy with the possibility of Zac coming home a bit early this afternoon and we've got ourselves an awesome Friday.