I know, it sound cliche, but this time of year is magical. It's full of memories and feelings that seem unreachable, indescribable; only felt. And that magic seems magnified by the bitter cold and piles of snow outside. I know that doesn't sound ideal and for some, a definite 'warm fuzzy' eraser. But for me, it brings back memories of my childhood. Good memories. Waking up in my second story room in the farmhouse in Minnesota and peering out the frosted glass to check the weather. Snow? I could already tell before I sat up; that bright glow seeping through the curtains, telling me it was a snowsuit day. But the dread of getting out of my warm bed and meeting the cold curtain of air almost makes me want to roll over for a few more minutes. Almost. I know that if I hurry, I can have a little time before the bus comes to dawdle in the snow. Make a snow angel along the quarter mile road leading from my house to the point where I meet the bus. Or snap ice-encrusted twigs off the little bush by the mailbox; marveling at the glassy casing and the delicate woody core.
Moving ahead a few years, we're still in Minnesota, but not on the farm. In the city, we live across the street from my elementary school. I am entrusted with walking my little sister to school. All the way across our yard, between the crossing guards and skirting the baseball diamond that is all visible from our front window. In the winter, the school floods an area of the soccer field, making an ice rink. If we bring our skates from home, we can ice skate during recess. There was a sort of shed that had benches to sit on and change from boots to skates. We all jostled each other, wanting to get out and make the most of our 20 minutes of freedom on the ice.
It's these memories that I hope to be able to impress upon my children; create lasting impressions on their little gray matter. In a way, I feel under a lot of pressure to make the most out of this "Year In Country". Living overseas, I have regrets about what my children don't experience. I know, stop shaking your heads. How can I have any regrets when we took afternoon drives around the Sphinx and Great Pyramids of Giza? But it's these parts of my childhood that I want my children to have as well that I know can't be duplicated. Ice skating, building snowmen, freezing their noses off while they wait for the bus or stampeding inside, peeling off frozen layers of clothing and having a hot cup of cocoa. I've come to grips with the fact that their memories are drastically different from mine. That's not a bad thing. I hope I'm making a great, memorable childhood for them. But I am secretly pleased that they do get to have a winter of freezing their tushies off. Grant has already come plowing inside; shedding soggy gloves and socks, in search of a cup of hot chocolate.
1 comment:
My childhood winters were not much fun... cold, but not usually freezing enough to be fun, just bitter to the bone. A bit of pretty snow encourages a higher cold tolerance I believe. I understand about wondering what our kids are missing out on, the type of things we considered 'normal' are far different than what they are living through, but I am convinced they get a fair trade!
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