It's cold. It's snowing. It's winter.
I knew it was coming. It's one of those things that happens every year, but you never know quite when. At least it waited until after Thanksgiving. We had about five inches of snow in the yard on Friday which worked out well because the boys played out in it for about three blissfully quiet hours. I read Redbook. I took a little nap. I did dishes without having to stop to make chocolate milk even once. It was nice. I even ventured out to take pictures of them all bundled up in their new boots and snow pants and rolling a huge snowball in the yard. They are so cute in their toboggan hats with pink cheeks and twinkling eyes.
And today it has snowed even more. Inch upon inch it piles up in the yard and makes me wish we had a fireplace to sit in front of. And surprisingly, I'm okay with it. (What could I do anyway?) I'll set out boots and gloves and hats for everyone tonight. I'll drink hot tea before bed to warm my toes. I'll get up a little earlier so I can leave early to avoid rushing. And I'll thank God that I live here, where the seasons show themselves so clearly and beautifully just as he planned.