It’s coming! The snowstorm of the year is headed our way! From midnight Sunday morning until noon Monday, our little town has been forecasted to receive 10 inches of billowing, blustering snow! Kansas and Missouri have already received their fare share. Now, the storm is blowing its way through the plains of Illinois!
Too excited to sleep, I decided to tip-toe past the sleeping girls and boy and settle into the living room where I might catch a glimpse of the first snowflakes to fall. The Christmas tree is still up, as the kids haven’t even returned to school from break. A grey cat sleeps at one end of the L-shaped sofa, and a brown cat sleeps in the corner, occasionally lifting her eyes to catch any sneaky kittens slinking about.
How many storms has this farmhouse withstood? Before the boy really closed his eyes, he complained that when he laid down, he felt like he was moving. I stooped down very low, to his level and kissed his forehead.
“That’s because tonight is a very special night,” I said, and took in a whiff of him. “There’s snow coming, and the house is moving just a teensy bit every time the wind blows. And the wind blows because it’s bringing us snow!” I tickled his neck. He scrunched his face all over and smiled. I was as bad as the kids before bed tonight.
It was after 8 o’clock, we had said bedtime prayers together (it was my turn) and all I could do was thank God for snow and cancelled plans. Then, we sent the kids to bed. Eric and I watched a couple episodes of our show while the kids came down intermittently with various problems. We laughed and had a nice time together. But once the show was over, Eric got up from the couch and went to the bathroom to get ready for bed. I too got up from the couch, but instead of getting ready for bed, I picked up my violin and began trying my hand at Fiddler on the Roof’s “Tradition.” The kids weren’t asleep yet, so what did it matter?
I played quietly, yet one by one they trickled down to tell me what they had been up to while we had been watching our show. The oldest, an 11 year-old daughter, showed me the story she is writing and illustrating, telling of today’s events in preparation for the snowstorm. It is called, “Snowstorm.” It was realistic, funny, and captured our day well. The middle, a 9 year-old daughter, showed me the graphic novel she is writing about a girl and a boy. I’m not sure where the story is going yet. As graphic novels go, there are lots of pictures and few words. But the middle child is very promising, so I have hope that she will produce something deeper and more creative than meets the eye, as that is her way. The youngest, a 6 year-old son, came down to tell me something about his eye. I’m not sure what it was, because it was probably the 20th time I heard something about his eye today.
Last night, before sending the kids up to bed, we warned them not to wrestle (they were all sleeping over in the middle child’s room). So, they played horsey, instead. The youngest, the cowboy in this adventure, fell off his horse, the oldest, and hit the side of his head, near his eye on the corner of the bed. Shrill screams and crying came from middle’s bedroom. I knew it was something worth being concerned over, I heard the thud when he fell. But, as the baby of the family, shrill screaming could indicate pain, or it could indicate disappointment from not getting his way. Either way, an ice pack was issued, a quick physical exam performed, and all were sent back upstairs with a strict warning. Even then, the excitement was too much. They didn’t really settle for over an hour after that.
It’s after midnight now. I’ve looked out the windows half a dozen times. No sign of snow. Yet. Millie, the brown cat, continues to look up from her slumber and scan the room for naughty kittens. Edith, the grey cat, is rolled on her side with a paw covering her face. One of the “kittens of thunder,” Lucy, is asleep on the floor below her, curled up in a blanket. The house is quiet, aside from my clickety clacking on my computer and the odd fan in the kitchen.
I look out the window one last time and spot deer moving in the field out our front window. Startled at first, second-guessing myself to think they might be people. But I’ve lived in Illinois my entire 35 years of life. I’ve learned to see deer within the camouflage of their brown fur with brown fields as a backdrop. And the likelihood of seeing a deer in a country setting far outweighs the likelihood of seeing a person. But never mind that. Flurries are in the air.