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The six of us went to bed last night with similar and yet different hopes.  The children hoped for the promised snow, a world of white peering in at them at daybreak.  (And yes they did get up at daybreak just to make sure the longed for snow wouldn’t get lonely).  I crossed my fingers for snow, but with conditions. Yes to snow if it was thick, icy, and early enough in the morning to cancel Mr. Darcy’s day at work. No to snow if it meant piles of wet clothes, the roads clear enough to traverse, and the expectation that I would actually go out into the cold.  That’s Mr Darcy’s job, it’s my responsibility to take pictures from the doorway (or hand the camera to the husband) and make hot chocolate.

The early risers found a very non-ivory landscape when they awoke and they wore the snow’s betrayal like capes across their shoulders.  As Mr. Darcy left for work, I cut my losses since the snow was obviously not going to adhere to my conditions.

And then the snow slowly, steadily arrived like a late guest to a birthday party.

The kids greeted the tardy arrival with forgiveness and little minds made big plans.

And it rained down miniature marshmallows and the world turned white and the kids entered the enchanted land for a little while.

Mama look, my first snowball!

My first snow angel, Mama!

And the wet clothes piled up and the hot chocolate got made.

Cheesy toast just like my mom used to make

And after I got past the cold, I found  myself admiring:

the layers of color against a fresh backdrop

the transformation of simple things we see every day

the joy the kids found in the very moderate amount of snow that visited them, even their mini-snowman satisfied their dreams from the night before

Not the snow day I had planned, but magical in it’s own way for a short period of time.