first snow

This is what I saw as I stepped out to get the paper this morning: the first snow of winter. In years past, the kids would be squealing and searching for hats, boots, sleds, mittens and scarves. Had I been an A-type, organized mother, all such items would be neatly organized near the back door in four little piles.

After the hour-long snow-gear search, the children would be running, snow-angeling, and throwing snowballs down each other's necks. Soon one would be crying at the door, all frozen or needing to use the bathroom. At which point I'd stop making hot chocolate to help undress, then re-dress the child. Twenty minutes later, I'd hand a tray of hot chocolate out the door for the kids, all soggy-mittened and red-cheeked. While I was putting throw rugs and beach towels around the back door to catch the snow, another child would be at the door, needing the potty.

Yep, that's what used to happen on first-snow days.