Snow Days:

The possibility of a snow day is part of winter's promise for children.  The night before, hoping and praying for the weather gods to hear their supplications, they perform magic rituals.  Wearing pajamas backwards and flushing ice cubes down the toilet, children wish for a day free from classes and homework.  In the morning, they rush to the window, peering out at the vast snow drifts and icy roads, waiting for parents to declare, "School is cancelled." 

When I was a child back in the pioneer days (according to my daughter), I turned on the TV, and watched the lists of cancellations, county by county, until 'Summit' finally appeared on the screen.  The thrill of seeing Our Lady of the Elms Elementary with the words "closed" next to it was unparalleled—a whole day ahead of me with the possibility of lounging around in pajamas, or spent playing in the snow, sledding, building elaborate forts and having snowball fights with my younger brother.  I always believed my mother was equally thrilled we were home an extra day. 

Or was she?

For us parents, snow days don't provoke the same wonder and excitement as they did in our childhoods.  Closed schools mean cancelled or rearranged work schedules, scrambling for family, neighbors or babysitters to provide care for our children, or even taking our children to work.  For those of us who are able to stay home with them, a single snow day is a blessing: extra time to snuggle on the couch and watch a movie, make a craft, bake cookies or bundle up for outside fun.  But, recently, on the third snow day in two weeks for many Ohio districts, including Copley-Fairlawn and Revere, some parents I knew experienced varying degrees of cabin fever.  Actually, by some parents, I mean me.  I couldn't help reflect on the movie, "The Shining."  Jack Nicholson's character was elated at the idea of being snowed in, but given a few too many days…well, it was ugly. Dramatic, I know, but three snow days in two weeks was a bit much.  

In our household, the first snow day was a welcome surprise.  Maggie and I made a gingerbread house out of graham crackers, watched Christmas movies and baked cookies.  The second snow day was more challenging: with a final paper due for my graduate class and a 9 year old stuck inside complaining of boredom, I struck a deal with a neighbor in a similar situation.  A play date with all of our children occurred at my house from mid-morning until mid-afternoon.  Later, my daughter went to the neighbor's house for several hours, providing me with uninterrupted work time.  On the third snow day, both my daughter and I were sick of looking at each other, and our home. After swirling around all morning, a friend suggested we spend the day at her house.  Bundled up like I was planning to race the Iditarod, I dug out the driveway, and the car, and we made a break for it. I brought my laptop to finish my paper, and Maggie went sledding with her school friends. 

Of course, my daughter is hoping for more snow days this December, but I can wait—at least until February.