It snowed today in Stockholm. And the snow stuck, a little, with the leaves still gold and orange on the trees, if the Swedish winter did not start today, any illusion of a mild autumn ended.
I was at a conference for two days this week, and there was a drumbeat of winter doom – it’s just starting, six more months of this, and so on. And we keep this up at home too – the winter dark is just too daunting. I get especially down when Swedes moan because didn’t they grow up in the dark? Shouldn’t they take it in stride, get cheerful, tell me to go skiing? (Some do, of course, but not most, in my experience).
But then I was saved by my morning in Daddyland. I call it that because I walk with both kids to their daycare, and I’m sure I would not be doing this each morning and most afternoons if I hadn’t taken all that paternity leave. It’s just in my flow now. I like it. I encourage it, even if getting two little people out the door regularly turns into a frantic race against time, at least for me, while my kids just look quizzically at me stumbling around with a bowl of oatmeal in one hand, a glove in the other, while trying to talk on the phone.
We walked this morning into the snow, and my daughter sang out, “I love the snow! Snow, snow, snow!” She marveled that it was sticking and later had a conversation with the snow, in which the snow talked back to us and told us how happy it was to be falling. Meanwhile, my son sat in the stroller and said, “Snow. Snow. Snow.” over and over again.
How could I hate the snow then? I could not.