It snowed in the South this weekend!
I know. I know. Those of you who live in the North are yawning right now. Snow down here is such a rarity, that the event is viewed as a wondrous thing met with much rejoicing. Being as I am a Northern transplant myself, I find the whole thing hysterical. Not so hysterical is the incredible amount of traffic accidents that happen during such wondrous events.
My older children fondly remember playing in snowfalls that were larger than themselves, having snowball fights, sledding, and making snow angels with the dog. In fact, the snowfall issue is the only reason they cite when asked if they miss living where we used to live. Winter doesn’t stay around long down here. When our baby arrived in early March of last year, his arrival was accompanied by 80 degree temperatures. His older siblings mourned the fact that he would never play in the snow. How sad.
I have to admit I did not mourn at all, nor did I see the fact that he would miss out on experiencing a significant snow storm as a great drawback either. I suppose I shoveled way too much snow in my lifetime and that leaves me very jaded. This weekend, when everyone was preparing and getting excited about the snow, I was contemplating a move farther south.
Then it happened! It snowed! Well, the Southern version of snow anyway. We bundled up our infant son and took him outside to watch the flakes fall and to show him how to catch the crystals on his tongue. Amidst the giggles and laughter and squeals of delight, my dreams of moving farther south were soon forgotten.
By that afternoon, what little snow had accumulated had vanished and my son’s first snowfall was just another memory which I recorded in his baby book. Now that’s the kind of snow I like!