By now, these snow pictures are two snows old.
This is before the southern snowstorm that’s currently outside, before the three-inch snow-pacolypse that knocked out our power, left us without internet and cancelled schools for a week, and after the “2014 Cold Wave” better known as the Polar Vortex.
This was our first snow, a typical Richmond snow: just a few inches that fell overnight and melted by noon.
In the morning we opened the blinds in David’s room and showed it to him. He was amazed. He ran from room to room looking out all the windows, surprised to see snow out each one. “Loo-t! Loo-t! There’s SNOW, Mommy!”
And now, for just a moment, I’m going to confidently speak for all the mothers of toddlers in the world right now: of all the qualities I hope to instill in my child, persistence is not one. No mother of any toddler anywhere has ever said, “I sure wish my 2-year old would have a little stick-to-itiveness.”
In fact, I’m sure the word stick-to-itiveness, which is an obnoxious word, was probably added to the dictionary by a mother who, before leaving for her job as an editor at Merriam-Webster, had to listen to her kid ask to go outside and play in the snow from 6 a.m. to 8 a.m. without stopping to breathe even once.
When I first saw the snow, I thought, “Maybe when I put Mary Virginia down for her nap, David and I will bundle up and go outside.”
In contrast, when David first saw the snow, he said, “IGOOUTSIDEPLAYINSNOWPLEASEMOMMYIGOOUTSIDEPLAYINSNOWPLEASEMOMMYIGOOUTSIDEPLAYINSNOWPLEASEMOMMYIGOOUTSIDEPLAYINSNOWPLEASEMOMMYIGOOUTSIDEPLAYINSNOWPLEASEMOMMYIGOOUTSIDEPLAYINSNOWPLEASEMOMMYIGOOUTSIDEPLAYINSNOWPLEASEMOMMYIGOOUTSIDEPLAYINSNOWPLEASEMOMMYIGOOUTSIDEPLAYINSNOWPLEASEMOMMY”
I told him, “Let’s eat breakfast and then Daddy has to go to work, and when Mary Virginia goes night night we’ll go play!”
And he said, “IGOOUTSIDEPLAYINSNOWPLEASEMOMMYIGOOUTSIDEPLAYINSNOWPLEASEMOMMYIGOOUTSIDEPLAYINSNOWPLEASEMOMMYIGOOUTSIDEPLAYINSNOWPLEASEMOMMYIGOOUTSIDEPLAYINSNOWPLEASEMOMMYIGOOUTSIDEPLAYINSNOWPLEASEMOMMYIGOOUTSIDEPLAYINSNOWPLEASEMOMMYIGOOUTSIDEPLAYINSNOWPLEASEMOMMYIGOOUTSIDEPLAYINSNOWPLEASEMOMMY!”
And then this.
“Go outside play in snow please, Mom?”
Excuse me, what? MOM? Did you just call me MOM? You aren’t allowed to call me mom. Not until you can spell it. In Latin.
The next thing I knew, at 7:30 a.m., before breakfast, before Tom left for work, before Mary Virginia’s nap, before I even had time for my morning ritual of curling my hair, putting on make-up, and snapping on a strand of pearls, were outside in the snow, please Mommy.
David loved it. He ran around with the excitement and amazement unique to a kid playing in the snow.
He couldn’t believe that there was not just now on the ground, but on the flag! On the bush! On his ball!
I held Mary Virginia close while David stomped and ran and threw and played.
I hate being cold. Have I said that here before? But even I have to admit that it was fun; more fun than the winter mornings when we wake up to the same old brittle, dry yard.
Even though it was fun, my coffee was waiting for me on the counter while I balanced Mary Virginia on my hip and tried to think of a way to get him inside before her nap.
I have great memories of my mom and dad playing outside in the snow with us; building snowmen and taking us on sledding routes so fast that my eyes start to water and my cheeks get chapped at the thought. But this is another milestone I’m looking forward to. Along with “the ability to tell Mommy when you have an ear infection”, and “the dexterity to buckle yourself in your carseat” I’ll add “old enough to play outside in the snow while MOM stays inside and watches the Today show.”