Snow Days

Thick, fat, wet snowflakes are falling outside. As we unloaded our grocery cart this morning, Angie looked with fascination at the little white fluffs falling on her shirt and face. On our way home, they thwack-thwack-thwacked the windshield rhythmically, lulling me despite the slightly hazardous conditions.

There's something calming and surreal about a snow day. You get this sense that the world is sleeping, cuddled up somewhere under thick, warm blankets, with nothing better to do than watch old movies and drink hot chocolate all day. Of course, the people who went to work this morning don't feel that way, I'm sure, as they contemplate the evening commute in slushy snow. But for me, no matter what else I have to do, I feel serene, as if nothing really needs to be done right now, and I'm ahead of the game if I do get something done.

When I was working full-time, snow days were a boon. Twenty-four hours of uninterrupted prep time. I could grade papers, prepare lesson plans and write a test without trying to squish it into a 45 minute prep period. I could work at a leisurely pace, and know I was doing a better job because I didn't have to rush through it.

I love a snow day. Not because I get to stay home, but because of the peacefulness and beauty of the day. The only thing weighing on my mind is that broken snow shovel leaning up against the house. . .