"Everything's Magical When it Snows, Everything Looks Pretty"

Like virtually my entire social media news feed, we got some snow last night.  Yes, I live in the mountains, but also yes, I live in the south.  So, we like to think we know what to do with snow, but as southern mountaineers, people from other places may scoff when they actually see it.  This time we got over six inches; it may have been closer to seven or eight by the time the flakes stopped falling this morning.  Regardless, it's a pretty snow. For us, this is a real snow.  The first real snow of this season.  You could practically hear the cheers from the ski slopes, even in spite of the bitter wind and frigid temperatures.

Lorelai Gilmore, the main character on "Gilmore Girls," insisted that she could smell snow.  Lorelai is one of the characters that I naively think would be a very dear friend, if a few things were different; mainly, if she were real and I lived in Stars Hollow.  Anyway, first snows always remind me of her.  She's right; the world changes with that blanket of white.  Snow does make everything look magical; look clean, look bright, look new.  However, that cold also carries a bite.  The beauty of it is deceivingly dangerous, in so many ways.

This particular first snow felt like a true first snow for Amelia.  We are running out of these moments for her; she's getting to the age where firsts are becoming fewer and farther apart.  At two years old (and seven months), she is getting to the point where she remembers more and more.  For those of you who know Amelia, you know how true that is for her specifically.  This child hardly every forgets.  Her memory continually surprises me.  Christmas did have a novel feel though; she was still overjoyed and surprised with each new thing we did this year.  Each moment brought some toddler magic.  Today was another window into that wonder.

There is an unbelievable amount of change coming for my family, most of the time right now, it feels like it's barreling toward us.  I'm still processing a good bit; and not ready to share it all, but it's coming.  Today, though, got to be about Amelia.  We relished being "snowed in."  We stayed at home all day, played together and played in the snow.

Since I'm over eight months pregnant, sadly, I couldn't sled today, but that didn't stop Adam and Amelia.  She could barely stand still as I got her dressed to go out and never hesitated for a moment. You could see how beautiful it looked to her; how magical.  She walked through the snow, she made snow angels, she rode on the sled, she declared that snow angels were all over her.  The outing didn't last terribly long since it (and is) horribly cold and windy, but that short period of time was enough to make her small backyard world something new, exciting and different.

Every time this happens, I am reminded of how lucky we are to have those moments and how lucky we are to witness those moments in her.  Amelia is growing up so quickly; I know that one day that magic will change.  The change is inevitable.  But, it doesn't have to disappear.  I hope that 2017 can be a year of magic for all of us.  No, nothing will be perfect.  Yes, there will be more loss, more pain, more sadness, more frustration, more inequalities.  I also know that we are the ones that can fight against that and fight we must.

In spite of all of that, don't miss out on snow days.  Don't forget what it was like to see something as if for the first time.  Know where you've been, but also where you're going.  Don't shrug off an opportunity to see the world as a toddler does; to see it as it could be, to see it as new, as pretty, as magical.

As It Could Be

The other day, we went on a walk.  Not an unusual or unexpected activity for us.  We chose the greenway for our adventure and took advantage of the warm weather before winter’s (hopefully) last foray of the year enveloped our whiplashing town.  The wind was a little colder than we had anticipated, but it didn’t deter us and we set off on the trail.  There were intramural games going on in a field; a birthday party was wrapping up at the picnic area and there were many others who shared our idea. 

Scout loves the greenway; sometimes it seems that she saves up certain things in order to do them in abundance in public, on the greenway.  She loves seeing other people, other dogs and scouting things out ahead. 

Amelia also loves our walks.  She loves to see things, to kick her feet around in the stroller as we walk and to babble to herself.  Of course, the babbling and constant movement are not exclusive to time spent in the stroller.

As our walk concluded, Adam and I discussed our next move.  Should we take Amelia to the playground to try out the swings for the first time?  Should we go straight home?  Should we let her play some outside of her stroller before we leave?  Sadly, the playground was eliminated since we had included Scout on our family outing.  We opted to let Amelia play in the grass with Scout before heading home.  Then, we realized. 

Amelia had never played in the grass before.  Ever. 

With what may be construed by some as disproportionate excitement, we inspected patches of grass until one particular area was deemed grassy enough, mostly clear of dirt and completely clear of the big business of dogs.  We sat Amelia down, took a step back and watched.  At first, she did nothing; she simply looked at us.  We sat down opposite her, with Scout in between us, intent on her reaction.  She put her hands out to crawl toward us, and then, she realized that she wasn’t on carpet, or tile or even hardwood floor.  This was different.  She flexed the fingers of both hands, and stretched one out to touch this new, green stuff that she had been forced to confront. 

Her hands began to move faster and almost immediately, both were working in the grass, exploring, pulling, feeling.  She discovered that if she pulled hard enough, she could get a few strands to come up out of the ground.  Unsurprisingly, she made several attempts to get a piece to her mouth that were quickly thwarted.  Soon, she came to the conclusion that this stuff was ok.  It wasn’t going to swallow her up or hurt her or do anything unexpected.  With that realization came the confidence to crawl and flop and act just as she does everywhere else…in other words, to move incessantly.

While this story may seem anticlimactic or even mundane to you (I did leave out the part where Amelia spit up spectacularly onto Scout’s back, which apparently did nothing but cement their friendship), it stood out to me this week. 

Every once in a while, I find myself overlooking the wonder of babyhood.  In the midst of diapers and feedings and cries, there are smiles and amazement and frank hope.  I keep up with achievements, milestones, wants and of course, needs.  But, how often do I stop and truly understand that everything she sees and touches and experiences is a first for her?  She is literally (and I don’t use that word lightly) seeing the world with brand new eyes.  I’m thankful for the privilege to see that wonder, to foster those experiences.  I’m humbled by the responsibility of being an influence on how she sees.  I’m hopeful that I can be part of a childhood that may help her to kindly and courageously see the world both as it is and as it could be.