There's something magical about the first snow of the year. It takes away the dark, naked, barren landscape and makes everything bright, sparkly, and pure. As we stayed inside to recover from our flu/stomach virus(and Little Lewie to recover from his nasty cold), our little boy stood by the door complaining. "Outside, outside," he'd moan, grabbing our hands and leading us to the door. Evidently, he remembered playing in the snow last year, and he was determined to make it happen again this year.
At other times, he'd grab his shoes and put them in our hands. "Outside," he'd mandate, while trying to make me slip the shoe on his foot. I loved his persistence. Since Daddy was the first of us to get sick (and spread it to me), he was the first to feel better, and so he took Little Lewie to the park several days in a row where they hiked and tromped through snow, threw snowballs, and and ran around chasing each other.
Finally this Saturday, almost a full week later, I had a chance to join them. It was close to 50 degrees out, and even though a lot of snow had melted, our little boy still enjoyed stomping, kicking, and playing in the slush. We didn't get a chance to go sledding yet, but it's on our agenda for the next snowstorm, which I'm sure will be equally beautiful. (They always are up until March when I'm ready for the tulips and daffodils to come out.)