Blizzard cometh {Day 1}

IMG7234 copyThe flakes began Wednesday night, not Friday as they’d said.  I should’ve known when they started canceling evening events, but I’d been periodically checking the weather forecast through out the day.
My colleague said she’d never heard of a “blizzard watch,” though I’m certain there’d been others before now.  And when the fire alarm sent us outside on drill in the 30 degree temperature,  it smelled like snow.  The ominous clear grey skies were increasing the student buzz about days off. We weren’t expecting to be off on Thursday,  but I’d prayed they wouldn’t force us into school with predicted snowfall on Friday.
The well stocked shelves of the grocery store belied the fervor of scared shoppers stocking up for the unknown. On Wednesday afternoon, their fears weren’t yet real.  Friday morning, though, after hundreds of accidents and disabled vehicles,  lengthened commutes and closed public transit, the store’s meager remnants were hardly beckoning.  The bread, milk, and meat isles were sparse.
IMG7236 copy IMG7237 copy IMG7274 copy IMG7286 copy  Then the real snow began. It started with non-threatening flurries and maintained the slow decent for hours. The white collected, stuck to the chilled pavement, built in increments. By 1:30, it increased and the winds created swirling tornadoes of snow as our neighborhood began to disappear.
At 5, I realized we’d not ventured out. Piling on layers of clothes, the kids and I trekked into the blinding elements. Ri didn’t remember a snow like this. Ya was surprised by the icy collection of flakes mingling with the fluffy, good for nothing build up. This was not snowball worthy.

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And my newly crowned teen found restraint, showing her maturity. I don’t know how much longer she’ll be a kid. That carefree exploring of youth is quickly ending. Now, it’s Ri who picks up boulders of ice to hurl at me. It’s she who laughs at the frenzied clouds disrupted from descent by heavy gusts, at the collection of snow on her lashes. IMG7339 copy

IMG7291 copyBut Chi delights in being Ri’s playmate. She lets go of appearances to give baby sister experience. Ri runs, Chi chases. Ri circles back, running right to her would-be capture. And they laugh as she’s swept up into an embrace and swung around and around.IMG7347 copy
Meanwhile, Ya perfects snow angels on the impassable street. He samples snow. And he sits in shock when Ri tosses loose snow at him, somehow covering half his face. IMG7308 copy

Happy 3rd birthday, baby!

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Today is your birthday. My sweet spitfire, my mini. “Thank you mom! Kiss. Hug,” you say several times a day. Later, though, I’m reprimanding you for swatting a sibling who refused your whim. Your teachers tell me you are the class protector. You sing all the time. You remind us to pray, frequently saying, “Mom, hallelujah. ” And you love to act as you “read” books. You love stickers. Anna, Elsa, Olaf (hola?), Minions (nanana), Mickey Mouse (hot dog, Mik Mow) are all favorites. You love watching Annie original and 2014. You love “teeyee,” or rather YouTube videos. You dislike “bubs” (bugs). And you are an excellent back seat driver.

Happy birthday, Ri. You are our favorite wedding gift.

This moment

Little miss was particularly fussy today. She’s finally sleep, in her usual spot on my bed. She clings to my shirt, drawing little breaths as eyes flutter.

Occasionally,  she smiles. She smells faintly of her bubble bath and the distinctive taint of that medicine for the reoccurring ear infection that simply has to go away. Brown curls fight free of her braids.

I should move her to her bed… and yet I am still, watching my baby sleep.

Tonight’s remembering

Where do I begin?

I’m sad tonight. I feel a tremendous loss. I’ve no one to talk to, because I’d violate some code of silence cast over us.  Someday, I pray, I’ll understand the why. But tonight? Tonight I grieve. Tonight I wipe the spontaneous tears away and pretend nothing – no one – was lost. I’ll push away those nagging thoughts that insist it’s pride that got us here, that keeps us here. Time is a delicate, precious commodity. It doesn’t replenish. It doesn’t stop. Tomorrow,  it may be too late. Tomorrow may never be. So I weep for what was… alone.

Story time for Curly head

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Diversions in the bounce

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