Snow Day! [Part 1]

"No school today-- stay in bed!" My mother's voice was a welcomed disturbance from my deep sleep. My eyes barely crack open as I rolled over to look out at the world from my top bunk. Light was streaming though the window, blindingly so, as the newly-risen sun was amplified against the fresh white blanket of snow that has tucked the world in.

My sleepiness was immediately rectified as I realized what this meant: SNOW DAY! I sat up in my bed suddenly, knocking my head against the ceiling. My four sisters stirred along with me, excitement beginning to buzz in our small room.

"No school! No school!" Joe burst into the room, his wiry body springing through the door and rocketing around the room. He jumped up to Sarah's bunk across from mine, "Get up, get up, get up!"

With energy that not even a strong cup of coffee could do for me now, I swept my blankets back in a hurried frenzy and swung myself off the bunk, falling with a fantastic THUD onto the bedroom floor. I neglected even bothering with the bunk's ladder-- it was straight off and onto the floor.

There is no way we were staying in bed. A snow day was not something to be wasted!

After shoveling down our breakfast of hot oatmeal, we scurried throughout the house in search of all of our winter gear-- starting with the closet by the back door. This was a treasure trove of jackets, snow suits, boots, gloves, hats, and more. It is a deep, narrow closet that, to this day, no one knows the true contents of it. It had a faint musty smell was never properly lit. Searching for personal items in there was like rooting through the 1000 pieces of a jig saw puzzle for that one piece. . . a little difficult.

What we could not find in the closet, we could find in the laundry room. When I was about 10, my parents built an addition onto our old farmhouse, creating a kitchen, dining area, family room, and a new basement. My father revamped the laundry room with 16 cubbies against the far left wall. Each kid has a cubby of their own in which all their clean clothes are placed once my mother finished washing. And although the poor woman tried so hard, there was never any order to this room. Clothing spilled off the cubbies and onto the floor, carpeting the ground. Neglected shirts and sweaters and pants pile the wicker chair next to the dryer, pleading to be folded by the rambunctious children. 10-year-old me overlooked this. I still knew where to find my gloves and I knew my favorite pair of snow pants were underneath the basket in the corner.

Everyone had snow pants. The origin of the pants are completely unknown to me, but they got the best use. My favorite pair were a faded pink, the pant legs just too short to cover my ankles. I had to pull on my older brother's socks over the pant bottom to keep out the cold and snow and wetness. The suspender straps were equipped with plastic buckles-- one sorry winter, the left buckle broke, forcing me to knot the strap to the snow pants' bib in order for it to stay up. Once my socks were bunched on, I would stuff them into a pair of boots a size too big and tie up the mis-matching laces. I swept my tangled, unbrushed hair into a ferocious pony tail and pulled on a knitted hat over my head, hiding the fugitive strands of hair. My arms shot through the arms of my poofy black winter coat and I hurried to zip and button. Finally, my fingers grabbed at the striped gloves awaiting me and I pushed my way out the door and into the white world awaiting me.