It snowed over the weekend. A lot. Sunday morning we got up, got ready for church, and drove through a winter wonderland. Branches that weeks ago wore brazen, ruffled reds and golds dressed for the day in minimalist white tunics with a tasteful shimmer of yellow and blue.
We did our usual thing. Church. Eat. Nap. Eat. Then we wrapped the girls in layers and ventured out into the dark and cold armed with glow sticks in hand. I felt like Max letting the tide deliver him to the island where Wild Things roam. Stepping across the snowy threshold of the white picket fence, I found our grove an enchanted forest and a royal rumpus about to begin!
Glow sticks were buried and dug up like treasure, their green, pink and blue light dancing like a grounded display of aurora borealis. The four of us threw snow like confetti, played hide and seek, did cartwheels and somersaults, lay down to find the "banana" moon framed in a web of branches above. All of it reflected in the crisply drawn shadows over the blank canvas of light, fluffy snow. A short, whimsical, monochromatic film.
For about twenty minutes there were no grown ups, only children. Delicious. Then the wind began to blow a little fiercer and we again took a cue from Max. We sailed back inside to the warmth and the light of the kitchen. And though no mother had left a tray with dinner waiting for us, The Daddy made us mini hot-fudge sundaes that proved wholly satisfactory.
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