The snow we anticipated Saturday afternoon really didn't arrive until Sunday, December 9th. It was an odd snow. I noticed as soon as I opened the windows in the morning that it had accumulated on the roads but not the grass. Little John John remarked about it during Sunday school class, and said he thought it was due to recent "strange weather patterns." Far be it for me to be discussing something as controversial as climate change with the nine year-olds at church. It just kind of came up.
Monday morning I had to wake up the unwilling. Sam didn't make it to the bus and Bethany was late enough to give up the effort. I decided it would be more convenient for me to drive her and my eleventh dependent--her cello, in one trip. I pulled up to the elementary school to let Bethany out, and couldn't resist nudging Sam, whose legs were sprawled out across the dash to the point of sure discomfort, in attempt at feigned sleep, and protest against the cruelty of high school related sleep deprivation torture.
I was pleased that, in spite of Sam's suffering, he was able to enjoy watching Bethany walk up to the front door, confidently carrying her cello, more than half her size, dressed in a mini skirt, bright colored leggings, a green Alpaca coat from Ecuador, and the enormous Grinch hat that Ben wore in the middle school musical.
"She's taking the Wes Anderson thing to an extreme." He said.
I do worry at times that she connected with Moon Rise Kingdom disturbing well for a ten year-old. But where is my Bruce Willis?
Monday morning the snow came in earnest. The roads were slippery, but I felt more confident than I have in years past. I drove the boys to preschool next, then Sophie to Grandma's, then went back to Lindon Nursery, for irises, in honor of my Bethany...who at one point insisted she would change her name to Iris, as soon as legally possible. She will always remember the beautiful field of irises that we used to wait to see in full bloom every spring in Beijing.
I bought a couple of cups of hot chocolate for the boys at the 7/11 after preschool. As they sipped, and I drove towards Grandma's slowly through the snow, the classical station played a gorgeous choral rendition of Good King Wenceslas, and Granty said,
"This is a wonderful day!"
I do love Mondays. It usually means lunch at Grandma Martha's house then I get to go to Caitlin's classroom to help out the teacher for an hour. This often means I get to cut and staple, even use crayons and gluestick if I am lucky, and help the kids with their writing and math. It is highly therapeutic, and no psychoanalysis is involved.
Monday afternoons I pick up the girls from school, and we stop for a treat on the way to dance. There is the hat again. In the evenings Jessica comes to our house for music lessons. Having her come to us has been a huge blessing.
It has been a busy two weeks, filled with concerts and recitals and not without emotion. This was the Wednesday morning sky. I was back at the school for the Christmas orchestra, band, and choral concert that we had tried to go to the week before, but had arrived ten minutes late and missed the orchestra all together. It was a classic moment of parental failure. Wednesday Grandma Martha and I went to great lengths to arrive at the daytime performance an hour early. It's all about redemption.