Ahh…Yes. Our Favorite Day, otherwise known as Monday. It’s the day that requires me to wish that the weekend hadn’t just flown by. We received a LOT of snow on Friday night. It never ceases to amaze me how it can be snowing huge flakes, and be so bright outside.
We had girl’s night at my house on Friday, which involved some gluten-free pizza, chocolate ice cream and a bottle of wine. Oh, and two not the best ever but not the worst either movies. Anyway, the girls left sometime in between 11 and midnight (I know… I should have been paying attention) and it was snowing like crazy outside! I couldn’t believe it. The Roomie and the Not Cranky Neighbor were working on the house next door, so I went over to entrain myself by mocking them. It was snowing so hard, you couldn’t see my footprints within minutes of me making them. The Not Cranky Neighbor’s house had a pipe burst, and the basement flooded, so they were attempting to clean it out. I really think that the Roomie was just looking for some one to drink with. The Roomie gave up on drinking with me a long time ago. In the three years we have roomed, I have yet to even begin to be able to drink like the Roomie can. I don’t attempt to either. I’m just not a big drinker; the hang over isn’t worth it. But I guess, if you don’t really have any hobbies besides drinking, you get pretty good at it.
Anyway. I still don’t like snow; in fact I almost died yesterday attempting to get to church. I think that God chose to let me live because I was bringing my cousin and she definitely needs some church, if you know what I mean.
But…there is something magical about snow. At least there was on Friday night. It’s so bright and cheery to stand out on the porch and watch the sky’s pour out big white fluffy flakes. I can’t help but smile at how light and heartwarming the snow is. It’s the three-year old inside of me that wants to run and jump and make snow angels again. Then tramp inside for some hot chocolate and Christmas cookies by the warm stove. I remember those days. How could you forget them? How many times did I get in trouble for throwing snowballs at my little sister? Not very often, since my dad started most of those fights. He generally got in trouble first, and mom would look at him with her school teacher look, and poor dad would apologize to Sarah. I would just laugh and use that moment to aim at the back of his head. The best snowballs were the ones that ended up down your neck. Whooo! They made you squirm as the melted. We didn’t get snow very often in Seattle, but when we did, we treasured it. And I miss those carefree snowy days. But don’t tell anyone. : )