Snow Day

I opened my eyes and slowly stretched my arms above my still-sleepy head. I stretched my legs under my soft, gray, fleece blanket and felt Porkchop’s razor blade cat fangs sink right into my bare big toe. 

“Ouch! That’s my foot!” 

I pulled back my foot and checked for blood. He stared at me unfazed and began to lick his black paw with the little white spot that made it look like he was wearing socks. A name I refused to suffer upon him. Rather, he took on the name of the first meal he swiped from my dinner plate. The first of many. 

Turning towards the window, I could see the streetlight glowing in the distance. Still dark, thanks to daylight saving’s time. And, what’s this? I grabbed my glasses from the nightstand and tried to see if my eyes were deceiving me. 

But no, they were not! Snow! The first of the long winter that lay ahead! 

I rushed to the window and looked out into the morning’s cold darkness. Illuminated by the soft glow of the yellow streetlight, thousands of glittering flakes raced each other to the street below. And… the street! At least 4 inches had piled up already!

The weatherman last night had predicted a “dusting”, a trace possible from a system moving mostly to the north. Apparently it shifted south, enough to take the plows by surprise since not a single one had gone through yet. 

It was Friday, and possibly the best Friday surprise there could be. A snow day from school! And it was gym day, the most dreaded day of the week for me. I couldn’t dodge a ball, climb a rope, run a lap, or sink a basket, if my life depended on it. I usually tried to blend in with the gym wall, clutching my inhaler for dear life. I’m not sure what kind of athlete my phys ed teacher expected from a group of 4th graders, but I clearly fell below the bar each Friday. A snow day today would save me from whatever physical punishment had been in store after lunch. Another reason I hated gym class. My lunch always bounced around my belly walls as I painfully tried to complete the array of activities tasked to my highly unathletic body. 

But not today. 

No sir, today would be a Friday Fun Day if ever there were one! 

First, I’ll enjoy a leisurely breakfast of hot oatmeal with strawberry jelly swirled into it, like a peppermint looks, but sweet and delicious. (I’m not a fan of peppermint, it makes my tongue too tingly.) I usually need to inhale my bowl of cereal so fast, milk gets in my nose. Then I start sneezing. Then my eyes water. Then I don’t get to finish it all before my mom is yelling “Hurry up, Teddy! The bus will be here! You’re going to miss it!” as she frantically waves her arms around and runs to the front window to see if it’s coming. 

But not today. 

After my hot breakfast, I will watch my favorite cartoons for at least an hour. I’ll snuggle with my pillow and blanket on the couch, and bask in the warmth of the fireplace my dad will undoubtedly light. I can hear him now saying, “Well this was a surprise! Better get a fire going so we don’t all freeze to death here!” 

Following a sufficient amount of cozy cartoon time, I’ll change from my flannel checked jammies into sweats and a sweatshirt, then add layers of snow pants, gloves, boots, and a hat. I wonder how many more inches will fall? Enough for a snowman as tall as me? I’ll have to check the fridge for carrots. And not piddly baby carrots, a nice long intimidating carrot of a nose for my snowman! I can just see the envious look on Greg Walter’s face when he drags his sled by and sees him…oh! Sledding! 

Once my snowman is constructed to my detailed specifications, I will polish up the old sled sitting in the shed, waiting for me to sail with reckless abandon down Abbey Hill! First graders beware, because my sled knows no bounds. It coasts, it turns, it flies through the air over moguls of snow perfectly crafted to send sledders up into the atmosphere if they hit them just right. One year, Mark Bonacci sailed so high that when he came down he basically just snapped his arm in two. He was pretty much an Abbey Hill legend after that. 

Sledding should take up at least another hour of my Snow Day. Time is gauged on a Snow Day by how quickly your limbs go numb. So, given that my hands and feet usually last about an hour before frostbite starts setting in, I’ll head home after that to peel off my wet snow pants and winter attire. And what’s next? You got it! Hot Cocoa! WITH marshmallows, that is. 

My mom has perfected the art (it IS an artform) of the World’s Best Cup of Hot Cocoa. She begins with whole milk. I’ve heard that some people use water in theirs (gasp!), and I can’t even imagine how that would taste. Am I a hot cocoa snob? Maybe. But I have a refined palate when it comes to the important things in life, like a Snow Day mug of hot cocoa. 

After the milk is heated in a pan on the stove, she adds a ½ cup of chocolate chips and melts them down. She then adds a tablespoon of pure vanilla extract (not imitation vanilla, the pure stuff is key). Slowly stirring, the warm chocolatey smell begins to fill the house. Once it reaches the right temperature, she pours it into my giant Snoopy mug, which is somehow the exact size needed for her recipe. As it steams on the kitchen table, she fills a small plastic bowl with soft, snow white marshmallows to be added as I see fit. I start with four, and then begin to melt into the hot liquid. I stir them around until they mostly dissolve. Then, I throw caution to the wind and dump the rest of the bowl into the mug. The coolness of the marshmallows decrease the overall temperature of the hot cocoa to sippable. I’m not sure how hot that is in Fahernheit. But it’s perfect to warm me up after sledding adventures. 

Finally, as dusk settles into the day, and I’m warmed with a belly full of hot cocoa, I’ll sit down on the couch with my parents and pop in a movie. We will snuggle up together, and I’ll inevitably fall asleep while we watch whatever movie is playing (probably for the hundredth time.) But the movie doesn’t matter. What matters is being warm, safe, and close to the best parents a kid could ask for. 

Even though I’m in 4th grade, my dad still carries me up to my bed and tucks me in. I’ll lay in the dark night, under my blanket, knowing that the next day is Saturday and I can sleep in. 

Just then, the sound of metal scraping pavement snaps me out of my reverie. I look to the window and see…No! It can’t be! A snowplow is taking away all the snow! All the beautiful, glorious snow I need for my Snow Day! 

I run downstairs and my mom sees the panic in my eyes. 

“Sorry, sweetheart. The plows have cleared up all the roads. You’ll need to go get dressed for school.”

Her words crush me. 

Dad walks in and I can see in his face that he is disappointed too. I turn, and slowly walk to the stairs, and begin the climb. It’s like climbing Everest. I’m not sure which is heavier: my feet or my heart. All my Snow Day plans were just plowed away with 170 horsepower. 

“Hey buddy, hold up a minute,” I hear my dad say. 

“Yeah, Dad?” I manage. He will probably tell me to wear my long underwear under my clothes to school today since it’s so cold. 

“Your mom and I think today should be a snow day after all. It’s still coming down, and I’ll bet by lunchtime there will be enough to make a snowman taller than you! What do you say? You in?”

“Am I in? You bet I’m in!” I said as I nearly leaped off the steps to give him a big hug. 

“Let’s go have breakfast and plan out the day. Sound good?” my dad asked with a smile.

“Already done,” I said, as we made our way to the kitchen. 

“Let’s get this Snow Day started.”