I wake up at 10 in the morning and my room is deceptively as dark as it was at 6 o’clock. Looking out my window I see the vast slate of gray sky, and the steady precipitation of white ice crystals. It is the first real snowy day we have had this winter.

To me, this weather means that I will not change out of my pajama pant and sweatshirt ensemble all day. It qualifies as the perfect excuse to be as lazy as I want to. Any previous obligations are immediately surrendered by “I’m so sorry, I can’t even make it out of my driveway (much less my front door). I mean, do you see this snow we are having?”

I have always felt a kind of sympathy for those who live in warmer climates and never get to experience the bliss of a snowed-in day.

These days used to constitute a marathon of sledding, igloo building, and playing on my playground that to me became my snow kingdom. Sometimes the snow would pile up so much that all I could see of my dog was his black nose and tail sticking up out of the white canvas.

Something about snow pants always amazed me. First off, if they had overalls attached to them, they were automatically the comfiest thing I could put on my body. Secondly, they meant I could quite literally sit in freezing water and not be the least bit fazed. Both these concepts were of utmost importance to my 10-year-old self.

The best part of the day was coming back inside after hours of being outside in an ice world. Stomping off melting powder onto my mudroom floor, and taking off my hat which left my blonde hair in spastic disarray, all while my red cheeks thawed was a staple image. I would run to my room as soon as I could, and change out of the wet and cold pajamas into new dry and warm pajamas, ready to finish out the do-nothing day.

Presently, I no longer enjoy these snow days in the same way I used to; however, I enjoy them nonetheless. They begin with coffee and crosswords with my family, and waiting until noon to even consider a change in location. They constitute watching a movie, or three, and my dad building a fire. They include some sort of steaming meal, and a warm shower or bath.

The day after a snow day always feels like a fresh start. That morning, I pulled on my snow boots, and walked outside around my backyard on the freshly fallen snow. My brother had just left for the airport to head back to school. I did not sled, or build igloos, or watch my dog of 12 years run around in stark contrast to the white snow. I kicked up the peaceful powder, and faced the bright sun that caused the world in its new white coat to sparkle. Everything still retained that peaceful glow and bright smell of freshly fallen snow. I stood in the space where my swing set used to stand, and looked out at my snow kingdom wishing I had worn some snow pants before I wandered out my mudroom door.

Back inside my cheeks thawed, and I changed out of my pajamas.The day wore on and the world began to move again. Snow melted off the roof of our house, and the driveway was revealed to us by the snow plow. The freshly fallen snow lost its bright smell, and I could hear the buzz of traffic. No more excuses.


Lynn Huffard is a senior at Wilton High School. She shares this column with four classmates.