We had our first real snowstorm yesterday and today. We hauled our groceries home on a sled. NK didn’t know what to make of it; she only let me pull her around the park on her sled – round and round and round – and informed me that any hill was “too much.” I even made a perfect snow angel – I was very proud – but she dismissed it with a steely stair. Pull the sled, man.
This morning, we got her dressed in her snowsuit; I expected clouds but no snow. Then NK and I opened the front door and found ourselves in a swirling snowstorm. She refused to wear gloves and was soon covered with a layer of wet crusty ice. She got cold, she got unhappy and I carried her crying into the daycare yard.
I expected them to play inside. After all, the parks here are deserted after a snowfall, exactly the opposite of what I imagined. But no, snow is not unique, barely fun. People just flee into their apartments, light candles and sit in the dark.
But, again, i was wrong. All the kids were out in the yard, just standing around, barely visible in the storm, probably too cold or bundled up to move. The daycare teacher laughed at me a bit, I forced gloves on NK’s hands and blew on them, and I left her sniffling and unhappy.
Walking to work, I imagined Norah learning to mush sled dogs. Or building igloos with friends after they got lost in the woods, separated from the group. Maybe they would kill a bear to survive.
But Norah had no frostbite on her fingers or toes when I came home from work. And she even let me pull her around the park for another hour tonight. Then she discovered the joys of walking in deep snow. Then she figured out you could eat snow. And then she refused to come in.