“Daddy, can we go outside?” Sydney pleads for the hundredth time. “Can’t we go outside? I wanna play in the snow. I wanna ride my sled.”
After numerous “no’s,” Dad finally relents, “OK, let’s go out!”
Sydney runs over and pulls on Grandma’s sweater. “Gramma, Gramma, you come too?”
Grandma rolls her eyes and responds unenthusiastically, “Sure.”
It took several minutes for everyone to suit up— pants, sweaters, snowsuit, jacket, gloves, mittens, hat, scarf, socks, and boots. Vermont’s weather was frigid that Christmas week. Ski slopes closed, icicles dangled everywhere, and previous records for cold temperatures shattered.
Two-year-old Sydney prances into the garage, grabs her sled and drags it onto the driveway. Climbing in, she worms her way back against the rear wooden slats while her arms grasp boards along the sides of the sled.
“Ready?” Dad grabs the sled rope and yells, “Let’s go!”
A snowy, unspoiled serenity greets the intruders. No trees rustled, snow-laden branches hung stiff and still, outdoor activity by humans and animals momentarily paused. Tranquility following a snowstorm.
The quiet did not last long.
“This is so fun Daddy. Faster, Daddy, faster! Come on Gramma! Isn’t this fun?” Straining her neck as she turns to look behind, the toddler yells at Grandma’s rapidly receding figure. Breathing gray-white cold air as she strides forward, head bowed, arms pumping, the older woman cannot keep up with her son’s triathlon-trained body.
“How much snow is there Daddy?”
“A couple of feet.”
“That’s a lot. Like my feet?”
Dad laughs and pulls the sled along the snow-covered street. Everything is coated white – evergreens, lawns, sidewalks, and street. The sun peeks out from silvery quick-moving clouds, offering the world sunshine and light.
Suddenly Sydney screeches, “Daddy! Daddy! I’m cold. Really, really cold. Let’s go home.”
“OK,” and carefully turning the sled around to avoid overturning, Dad begins to walk home.
“I’m cold,” Sydney declares, her body generating shivery motions. Grandma approaches, panting and exhausted after struggling to catch up with the pair. Breathing heavily she rasps, “Anyone for hot chocolate?”
“And a cookie?” Sydney replies.
“Of course!”
Sydney bolts out of the sled, causing it to careen onto one side. Dad teeters, struggling to steady himself on the ice-coated street. Failing, he hits the ground hard, but bolts upright immediately. Brushing himself off, he joins the others.
Sydney, Dad, and Grandma walk slowly, three generations enjoying a winter wonderland.
With each step Sydney rocks side to side, her bulky pink snowsuit an impediment to movement. Trying to take big strides, she staggers and falls as her boots skid on the slick roadway. Grandma hauls her up each time, the tot’s body heavier with each yank.
“This is hard,” Sydney pouts, “I’m tired. And hungry.” Staring, she says, “Gramma, what’s coming out of your mouth?”
“Cold air, very cold air…”
“Show me how to breathe cold air please ple-e-e-ase!”
“You are…open your mouth and breathe…” but Sydney stops listening. Now too close to coveted treats, the toddler dashes into the garage, wobbling precariously but determined to reach her goal, the desire for hot chocolate and cookies driving her forward.
With Grandma’s help Sydney impatiently unzips and wiggles out of her snowsuit, tosses boots, gloves and hat aside, and dashes into the kitchen, the day’s outdoor adventure over.
Fast forward a decade plus a couple of years.
All but one of my grandkids are teenagers now. I was never a cold weather fan, and my tolerance for freezing temperatures decreases each year. I worry about gingerly maneuvering on snowy, icy, slippery walkways. I reluctantly dress in layers, preferring lightweight outfits. My skiing and other winter sports days are behind me.
My idea of a perfect snow day is to throw on sweats, make coffee, wrap a quilt around me, surround myself with my computer, books, and phone, and languish. I stir to make comfort food, calories be damned. I gaze out the window and admire the pristine landscape from my warm, comfy home.
The perfect snow day for an aging grandma.
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