It was unusually bright out when I woke up at 6 o’clock this morning. Peering out my window, I didn’t see the sunrise creeping over the mountains like I usually do. Instead, it was the blinding white glow of snow as it swallowed the yard while more flakes and flurries scattered from the still-dark skies.
“That’s a lot of snow,” I thought to myself, not thinking it was a big deal.
After all, I’ve been in Colorado for two years now, I know what a lot of snow looks like… Wrong.
Because I’m particularly lazy about walking my dog when a single snow flake falls or the sun isn’t shining right, I shuffled my way to the door to let him out to do his business on his own. We were both greeted by a knee-deep wall of snow.
“That’s really a lot of snow.”
I’ve heard many stories about these legendary snow days. Growing up in Florida, I envied the kids on TV shows and in cartoons who were able to skip school for the day and go sledding and make snow angels instead of sitting at uncomfortable desks and learning about fractions and long division. Not that Florida didn’t have its perks; I remember one time we had a hurricane day and my brother and I stayed inside playing video games until the power went out… I’m not bitter.
For the very first time in my lifetime, I had my own snow day.
Snow days must be a lot more exciting when you’re a kid. So far today I’ve made breakfast, ate breakfast, showered, wrote some articles, washed dishes, tried to do my budget (I don’t want to talk about how it took me five times to add up the same numbers), and wrote some more. Oh, to be a working adult.
Why does it have to be that way? Why can’t I have fun on a snow day?
When I was younger, my dad used to say that things are only as boring as you make them — or something along those lines. His point being, if you don’t want to be bored, do something about it.
So I did.
I got dressed in my warmest clothes (I left my snow bib in my car, which was buried under snow and not worth the shoveling), grabbed a kid’s foam sled I had lying around the place, hyped up my dog and jumped outside and into a pile of snow. I tried to make snow angels, but that was too cold. Snow got into my coat and soaked through my boots. I didn’t last long. I hate the cold and needed to be back in my heated home, buried in blankets instead.
It’s still not as appealing as I thought it would be when I was seven, but a bold dip in the snow was definitely needed. Not only was I able to have fun and unwind from a crazy busy week, but most importantly, my dog was able to take care of his business.