Curly has commenced her Christmas countdown (which involves the deployment of all fingers and toes for counting, plus the limbs of her beloved T. Rex, and much checking of the calendar). Yesterday it snowed, driving both kids (and half of Seattle, I think) into a frenzy of Christmas and winter-time excitement. We were on our way home from their hockey practice (with a snack-stop at Bakery Nouveau) when the snow started. The kids were transported with delight. Curly stood on the sidewalk, face turned up, tongue out, to catch the flakes in her mouth.
I aided and abetted their excitement (the snow came in enormous, feathery flakes of the sort that you can only get when it is very close to 32 degrees, and was more or less the platonic ideal of first-snow loveliness) by plying them with hot cocoa and pastries from Bakery Nouveau. Even when you're familiar with the downsides of winter (like, say, the fiery pain of having frozen feet regain blood flow, or how very dismal oily, dirty snow can be), the first snowfall is still thrilling. We joined in a little neighborhood snowball fight, tromped around in the snow a bit, and Curly, like half the kids in the neighborhood, built a snowman, while her brother did his best to peg me with snowballs as I helped her. Whose nose fell out this morning in the torrential rain. The only traces left of the snow are the poor melting snowmen festooning front lawns throughout the city.