Yesterday morning, Ben left for work while the kids and I sat happily at the breakfast table eating our pumpernickel bagels with cream cheese (them) and English muffins (me). We said goodbye and went on about the business of eating breakfast and sipping hot coffee (me) and cold milk (them), just like everyday when we heard a sound we haven't heard in 5 or 6 months-- Ben coming back inside.
"Dada home work?" Jack asked, confused.
"No," Ben told him. "My car is covered with ice." Harry ran to the window to investigate and Ben made himself a cup of coffee to go and pillaged the trick-or-treat stash while he waited.
After breakfast, both kids ran joyously around the house in their Spiderman hats and gloves (Harry)/ mittens (Jack) from last year that they rediscovered in the winter accessory bin in our front closet. They wore their outerwear inside all morning, so excited to feel the chill on the playground and the warmth of their fingers nestled together. Harry told Jack all about snow, which Jack claimed to remember.
Usually, I dread the long winter and its approach, thinking only of how much more shit I will have to carry around when we go places and I become the default hauler of scarves, hats, gloves, coats, sometimes if I'm lucky boots. You know the cliches-- taking 20 minutes to get bundled up to go outside and staying out for only 15. It ill be dark when we wake up and dark shortly after the end of the school day. While I love cold fall nights that smell like leaves, I love them best inside my house, snuggled under a blanket. By the time February rolls around and the snow is black, I am perusing real estate in the south.
Yesterday morning, though, charmed by the site of my warm Spidermen, I stepped back from the precipice of the slippery winter-sucks-I-hate-this-town slope I was poised to tumble down and saw the magic of the season's change again.
I even found some turquoise mittens of my own.