First Edition

It is 2 a.m. We have a few inches of snow outside and Weatherbug tells me it is 22 degrees. I am not sure about wind chill and those things, but I do know that it feels very, very cold. Not as bad as the other night, but still uncomfortably cold. Our 5 degree weekend was enough to squash my ideas of moving to Alaska or visiting Greenland. Driving my leather seated, not yet warm car to school the other morning even made me reconsider my love for snow cones and question my adoration of those pink snack cakes called Snow Balls.

Syd is impressed. She enjoys looking out the window and telling us very loudly, "It's snowing again. Look, Mommy, look." She said this a few times today while wearing her princess hat, pink fairy wings, purple ballerina skirt, and pink velvet slippers. She was the very essence of Little Girl and I couldn't breathe for a minute when I first looked at her in her outfit. Today, our kitchen sink drain broke and water started flowing into the kitchen floor by way of the cabinet underneath. Bob and I sprung into action to stop the flood and move anything water soluble out of the way. Sydney, who refused to go and watch cartoons to keep out of the way, stood in the doorway and kept asking, "So, what's the big deal?" over and over. It must've been her catch phrase of the day. I raised my voice at her in aggravation at the leak, but now, thinking back, I regret that horribly. How exciting must it have been to see water coming from somewhere it shouldn't and a mess being made for which she was not responsible. I keep hearing her little voice (which seems so grown up yet helium based) ask about the big deal and I grin.

She is still not potty trained. She goes in the toilet each night before bed, but fights tooth and nail (mostly tooth...but she kicks too) to avoid the potty any other time of day. She tells me to change her diaper and I threaten that if she doesn't use the potty, she will have to change her own diaper. This brings on the giggles and a sweet little "nuh-uh" that makes me laugh, too. She is becoming quite the tooth brushing pro but still screams at having her hair rinsed in the bath. Tonight she used new shampoo. When I kissed her goodnight, her hair smelled like cherries.

Earlier today, while walking the dog, it didn't seem like snow. I had an memory of my great grandmother's house in Hickory Tree. It had a wood stove and the fire had to be tended everyday so cooking could be done. It made for some hot summer mornings, but we just kept the door open. The dogs would come and go in and out, off the wood plank porch. If you were outside and looked up at the stove pipe when the fire was getting "stirred", ashes of burnt paper would shoot up on a gust of breath from the fire and flutter back down. They floated back down slowly and I remember thinking then how much they looked like snow. Today, the flakes fell that same way and seemed so soft. I just remembered how my great aunt would tuck me in under pounds of blankets during thunder storms. That tin roof would sound like it was going to give way and the trees all around us would sway and creak, strain and groan. I was always afraid that some lightning lit evening that house was just going to go. But she would tuck me in under all those quilts when the thunder first pealed (heavy in the way quilts used to be), and I would slip into dreams of being safe. I rarely woke even at the loudest cracks and crashes. Now, I sleep very lightly unless I am tucked tight into a cool bed with the weight of quilts laid across me. I miss that bed right now. It was right by the oil stove so that in winter, I turned like a rotisserie chicken to keep all my sides warm at night.

By the way, my earlier mentioned dog, Roswell, is not a fan of the snow. She growls and barks and generally complains the entire time she is outside. Prissy, little thing can't help it. I can't imagine being 7 pounds and only a few inches off the ground and having to squat in knee deep (to her it is) snow to pee. When she comes back in, she makes a hundred laps around the living room at top speed to warm up. This makes Sydney laugh uncontrollably and with such sweetness that I wish the dog would never tire out. We call it "Puppy Freak Out". My father's dog, Doodles (which used to be my little pooch, Wicket), does the same thing and my dad calls it "The Doodle-Dog 500". It amazes me that a man as broad and tough as my dad calls his lapdog, Doodles, and talks about doggie "num-nums" sometimes.

Bob is hoping that school is called off for him tomorrow. I am on board with that hope. I would much rather have another day of do-little than...wait, I still have laundry, grocery shopping, homework, housecleaning, and art supply shopping to do. So, I guess I am hoping for cleared roads and safe driving...and a few extra hours in the day. Sorry, Bob, to school with you.

9:15 am update - School Closed. Yay, for Bob.