I SAID I wanted a snow day

Here's something I hate: the weatherpeople predict snow; they point to your county, colored purple, sitting squarely in the "winter weather advisory" zone; they flash pictures of areas south where snow is already falling, loop radar images of the storm zooming your way; schools announce delays; snow-fearing southerners flock to the grocery store for milk and bread; you start to imagine your snow day: kids home, fire in the fireplace, noses drippy and red from sledding in the backyard; Paige stomping through her first snow.

You wake up early the next morning. Right away you scurry to the window, sure you'll raise the blinds to find the promised winter wonderland.

And it's raining.

Muddy, cold, wet, unlovely rain. Schools are not closed. Classes at the college where you teach will be held. No sledding nor hot chocolate. All that lies before you is a chilly wet drive to school, a chilly wet drive home. Maybe some laundry.

Well today John and I said no. No to simple rain. No to that chilly, wet drive. No to getting up at the crack of dawn to get Owen ready for school when we'd been up until 2 am the night before, watching bad TV and reading magazines, sure we'd get to sleep in because bad-hair weatherguy all but guaranteed ice and snow.

At 6:00 this morning, John got up, saw the sogginess outside, turned on the TV and heard that it had snowed and iced a little at about 4:00. Bad-hair morning weather guy said there could be a very few icy patches on bridges and overpasses. And that was enough for John. I heard him pad back down the hall, snap off the bathroom light, and get back in bed.

A few minutes later, I got up to see for myself, thinking that John's snoring meant the winter weather fairy had come. But no. I called the inclement weather line at Owen's school, where a flat, unfeeling voice told me the school was open. Then I went and gave John a shake. "You do realize it's only raining." John cracked one eye. "It was icy earlier," he muttered. "It's a 20 miles drive. Too dangerous." Noticing my skepticism, he made the play he knew would ensure his victory: "You can take him if you want to." Out the window behind him, I could see the gray, 33 degree morning. "No no," I said. "I agree. We shouldn't take any chances." And we snuggled back under the quilt, re-claiming out lost snow day, refusing to let the dream die.

There was no snowman, no fire, no snuffly noses, but I did spend the morning playing games and coloring. I took a catnap with Paige and stole an hour for sewing while the boys watched a movie. We had mac and cheese for lunch with Little Debbie valentine cakes for dessert. Yes, the day would have been made cozier by a few snowflakes, but all in all, it was one of those lovely quiet days when you don't go anywhere and everyone is lazy and no one feels bad about it even though it's Thursday and your 6 year old is supposed to be at kindergarten.

Everyone deserves a "no day" now and then, a day to say "no" to losing your snow day because temperatures crept a few degrees above freezing, because the storm lollygagged and swept in too late. In North Carolina, we are frequent victims of the "it will snow if the conditions are exactly right and the forces of nature align perfectly" forecast.

This morning, we were in no mood to be disappointed.