I awoke to a beautiful site today. I opened the blinds of the kitchen window to find my new back yard covered in snow.
There was a time in my life when I hated snow. I believe that time closely correlates with the time in my life that I realized that being “treated like an adult” required me to get my ass out of bed and be to work. Yes, even if 8 inches of packed, white, cold powder covered every road in town, I was expected to be there & ready for work at 6 am.
As I’ve grown older I’ve reconciled my feelings about snow with other things that are important to me. Christmas, for instance. I
am semi-fanatical about really love the Christmas holiday season. From the minute the Thanksgiving Turkey is wolfed down until the Christmas decorations are put away in March I am filled with holiday spirit. And, recognizing that snow is a very important part of that time has helped be become more tolerant of, and even learn to enjoy, the snow.
And so, when I found the world outside of door covered in snow this morning I was at peace. Christmas carols filled my head and I gave a silent nod, welcoming the true arrival of Father Winter. I woke the Oldest and the Middle, excitedly telling them about the snow. And then set about to make their breakfast so they could go off to school with…wait…school. Snow. Cold. “Oh, shit!,” I yelled, “We don’t have winter coats for the kids!”
Now, in my defense, the weather in western Colorado is a little unpredictable. A clear, 65-degree day can be followed by the worst snow storm in centuries, which will be followed by a week of 65-degree days. We had barely broken out the light jackets so winter coats hadn’t really entered our minds yet…and that’s partially due to my slacker tendencies.
So, there I am, rummaging through the closet to find a matching pair of shoes for my own feet, while shucking my coffee-stained T-shirt for a more appropriate “public” shirt.
“Gotta run to WalMart. Snowing. Need coats. Kids eating breakfast. Love you.” I called to The Hubbin as I hurdled two dogs and rushed out the door.
As I stood there, in an almost empty super center, holding three coats, three hats and three pairs I gloves–and faced the post-retiree cashier who knowingly appraised my purchases and sized up my parenting skills in one glance–I had to hand it to Sam Walton and his chain store posse. Years ago they recognized parenting trends across the US, postulated that a time would come when parents could need any number of items at 5 am, and they built 24 hour SuperCenters within 30 minutes of every American home. And, from this underachieving mom I’ve got to say, God bless them for that!