Living my entire life in the Northeast, and more than half of it in New England I have always known snow.
I still love to look at it and play in it.
Somehow we had made it eight years of parenting without acquiring a sled, and were grateful for both the invitation to join neighbor friends sledding and for their generous offer to share their sledding supplies.
Wintering in colder climates is made more enjoyable with having the proper equipment but also a shift in attitude.
Instead of begrudging the ten minutes it takes to help children gear up, I try to savor the sights of a two year old attempting to stuff her tutu into snowpants or the rosy hue of an eight year old’s cheeks when she comes back inside.
The six year old who comes in just long enough to have me wipe the snow out from behind his glasses while he declares that it is, “super fun!”.
Or the way the two year old boy barrels bravely into the snow and returns moments later looking offended and proclaiming how cold it is.
When the holidays are over there are popovers made at 6am on a random Saturday with the only other person in the house who is awake, and dessert crepes for lunch to keep spirits festive.
The four of them decide to have “sleepovers” in the living room midmorning when they are tired from playing in the snow (and from making popovers at 6am).
And when they ask to play on the ice after school, I try to say yes in opposition of my desire to rush back inside from the temperatures in the teens, because I don’t want them to dread this season or view it as something to simply survive until Spring comes.
