I remember snow days.
I remember the phone ringing at 5:30 a.m. with an automated call telling us that school was canceled.
I remember turning off alarm clocks and snuggling in for a few more hours of sleep.
I remember special weekday pancake breakfasts eaten leisurely while plans were excitedly made.
I remember bundling up kids with extra hats, mittens and scarves and digging out sleds that were always in the back of the garage under something heavy.
I remember snowy clothes piled in the foyer after red-cheeked children sat in the kitchen drinking marshmallowy hot chocolate, trying to warm up enough to go outside again.
I remember searching for carrots, buttons, old scarves and hats for crooked snowmen that often fell and that someone’s dog always peed on.
I remember the snow forts and EPIC snowball fights.
I remember when kids fought over who got to shovel out the driveways.
I remember baking cookies for neighbors and sending kids to check on the older ones.
I remember sleepy moments cuddled together on the couch watching a movie when it became to cold or heavy to be out long.
I remember kids putting on pajamas backwards hoping that the next day would be a snow day, again.
I remember hoping that the next day would be a snow day again, too.
I remember the world being hushed out with snow, and the quiet peace of time that somehow stood still, and all that mattered was being together and enjoying.
My kids are nearly grown.
I miss snow days.