At 7:16 this morning, my kids headed out into the first actual snowstorm of the season in our neck of the woods. They pulled on their hand-me-down or thrift store snowsuits and jackets over their pajamas, dug around in our mess of an entryway until they located somewhat appropriate hats and mittens, and headed out into 18 degrees.
There was only about an inch of snow on the ground at that point, but they did their very best to scrape together enough to play with. The snow was too dry to build their desired snow fort, so they dug around in the basement until they found two banged up sleds. After a few futile attempted runs down the driveway, they tossed those aside and started shoveling patches the driveway and cleaning off my car, which turned into throwing shovelfuls of airy snow at each other. Finally, about 45 minutes later, they straggled back inside and asked for hot chocolate, but we didn’t have any. So instead they stripped back to pajama level, ate dry crackers, and settled in to wait until there was more white stuff.
I think sometimes about how different our lives would be if I were the type of parent who has everything together. One who can properly run a household on a schedule, whose kids aren’t in pajamas until noon on vacation days, and who can greet a snow day with a planned list of activities and seasonal snacks. I bet those families always manage to find matching gloves.
But, eh. Making do is what we do. My kids were out there making their own fun and burning off some energy. They got to celebrate the first snow of winter and didn’t seem to mind their patchwork outfits and constantly failing activities. Heck, they even shoveled the driveway a bit.
I guess we are doing okay.