Saturdays seemed to be sleepy days. There was no school and the kids had a chance to sleep in. I took advantage of the first hours of the morning to start on the mountain of laundry that waited for me in the living room.
“When will the snow come, mommy?” Kayla asked me, for what seemed like the upteenth time today. Winter was quite an obsession with my daughter. I blamed it on those Russians cartoon she watched, predominantly set in Siberia.
Giving an audible sigh, not that anyone will acknowledge it, “It’s almost May dear,” I tried to explain to her. “In a few months, if we’re lucky. Snow means that winter is coming, if not upon us already.”
“But I love snow,” Kayla pouted, a very cute frown scrunching up her face.
“I know dear,” I patted her head, as I put her dinner before her. I contemplated how to explain passing of the seasons to a four-year-old. “But snow needs to sleep sometimes as well, and that’s during the spring and summer.”
“Like the sun and the moon?” Kayla wondered.
“Similar yes,” I nodded. “Now, eat your dinner and get ready for bed. I’ll tell you the story about the wizard again.”
With childish delight, Kayla dropped the subject and tucked in.
Saturdays seemed to be sleepy days. There was no school and the kids had a chance to sleep in. I took advantage of the first hours of the morning to start on the mountain of laundry that waited for me in the living room. I didn’t open the blinds, opting for turning on the lights, as not to wake my husband and Kayla. After an hour of folding and ironing, Kayla’s shrieks from her room sent a shot of adrenaline coursing through my veins. I threw the clothes on the couch and sprinted to her room on the upper floor.
Kayla was alright. She was sitting on the windowsill and excitedly pointed outside. “Look, mommy,” she screamed, probably waking every neighbor. “Winter’s here.”
True to her word, fat snowflakes were covering the street outside. On April 27th. How curious.