Another day, another snow storm — or at least that’s how it’s starting to feel these days.
And yes, another snow day.
At the rate we’re going, Catherine will graduate high school after she moves into the dorm at Hofstra.
But even high school seniors greet the news of no school with childlike glee. After a good long sleep-in, she was downstairs eating, regaling me with more tidbits from the Hofstra website (they had a snow day, too!), chattering away about leaving on the high school choruses’ Hawaii trip on Saturday, showing me pictures on someone’s Instagram.
Somehow I managed to escape yet another trip through “prom gowns I
want to wear want you to buy me”; surely, that is coming. Again.
And then, all at once, I was treated to a flash of maturity the likes of which we parents dream we’ll one day be lucky enough to experience.
“Should I go out and shovel?” she asked, a gleaming halo fairly appearing above her scrunchy-festooned sideways ponytail.
After I pulled myself up off the floor and quickly ran a mental catalog of the things she might be angling for (prom gown, natch), I assured her that Dad would appreciate it. He’d made one pass earlier, but the snow had been steadily falling since.
“Better get suited up,” I said.
And with that she did.
But don’t let the excited expression fool you.
Less than five minutes later, she was at the door looking like this.
And following a record-setting job of racing through the walk and lower half of the driveway (apparently like me, my car is chopped liver, destined to remain snowed in), she was back at the dining room table with me sipping cocoa.
Once again, the planets were aligned.