Last night the fat, fluffy snowflakes fell quickly all evening, piling one on top of the other on the roads and yards, streets and sidewalks, creating a winter wonderland. It was the kind of evening that sparkles with "snow light," making the nighttime a little brighter and drawing me to the window again and again.
It was the kind of evening that will curl around a person and her novel, snuggling her easily into the early morning hours as she devours word after word, confident in the absolute freedom of the next morning.
It was the kind of evening that precedes a snow day! A day of rest forced upon the city by Mother Nature's stubborn, wet, sticky weather.
Every teacher's dream.
And, for this teacher, a snow day brings the added blessing of stolen hours with her own tiny ones. Moments that were thieved away from the third grade groups preparing for T-CAP, from kindergarten lesson planning and RtI updating, from quick seconds to run to the bathroom and quick conversations in the hallway.
Those moments were replaced with a two-year-old's precious excitement about building a "smiling" snowman like in the "Peter book" (A Snowy Day by Ezra Jack Keats), followed almost instantly by a two-year-old's crying insistence that he doesn't like it outside and wants to go in!
Those moments were also replaced by slippery slides down the street in a brand new sled. By two-year-old laughter and grilled cheese sandwiches. By footprints in the snowy yard and hot chocolate with marshmallows.
I'll take that trade any day I can get it.









