I think I may have read Snow Day a few too many times.
For the past few days, the weather forecasters talked up the next snowstorm. It was going to hit overnight, and while the total accumulation being predicted was only a couple of inches, I started doing my snow dance – in my head at least – as soon as I heard the words “the next storm.” I wanted a snow day. I needed a snow day. What difference did it make that it already was only a four-day work week.
When I woke up this morning, I was crushed, overwhelmingly crushed. The ground was bare. Stark naked. Not only was there not a dusting of snow, but there also wasn’t even a snowflake in sight. I cursed the weather forecasters for being wrong, again, and I cursed myself for allowing myself to believe them, again.
I lumbered around the kitchen making breakfast, dragged myself into the shower, all the while lamenting to the cats about all the things I wouldn’t be able to do since we weren’t getting a snow day. I’d planned it all out – I’d clean the kitchen, straighten up the family room, read a little, write a little, even play with the cats. (When Bailey heard that, he meowed which I interpreted to mean “those awful weathermen. How could they get our hopes up like this.” Bailey is a very sympathetic cat.)
Of course, all of the things I planned for my snow day that didn’t happen aren’t nearly as much fun as Tessa, Jake, and Molly did on their snow day. But then again, they’re kids and I’m an adult. Sort of.
Find out more about Tessa, Jake, and Molly’s wintery adventures on their Snow Day at www.outskirtspress.com/pamelaghamilton.