Chapter 16
The first heavy snow of the season fell in December,
blanketing the world in a pristine,
sparkling white,
and transforming our street into a silent winter wonderland,
that begged to be explored and trampled upon.
Noah and Finn woke up incredibly early that Saturday,
pressing their small faces against the frosty window glass,
and practically vibrating with a frantic,
urgent energy,
desperate to get outside and build a snow fortress.
I bundled them up in layers of thick wool and fleece,
pulling colorful knitted hats down over their ears,
and searching frantically for matching waterproof gloves,
before finally setting them loose into the freezing yard.
Grant joined them a few minutes later with a shovel,
helping to roll massive,
heavy spheres of sticky snow,
and stacking them carefully to create a towering snowman,
that they decorated with fallen branches and loose rocks.
I watched them from the warmth of the kitchen window,
wrapping my hands around a steaming mug of hot cocoa,
and smiling as Finn playfully threw a snowball at Grant,
starting an absolute,
ruthless war across the front lawn.
The joy on their faces was bright and totally uncontained,
a stark contrast to the cold,
grey winter morning,
and I felt a deep wave of gratitude wash over me,
for the simple privilege of witnessing their happiness.
Later that afternoon,
when they came inside shivering and soaking wet,
we stripped off their snowy gear by the front door,
and piled every blanket we owned onto the living room sofa,
creating a giant,
cozy nest for the four of us.
We put on a classic animated movie about reindeer,
and I passed out mugs of cocoa with extra marshmallows,
letting the boys snuggle deeply into my sides,
as their freezing toes slowly began to thaw.
Grant wrapped his arms around the entire pile of blankets,
pulling us closer together in a tight,
warm hug,
and rested his chin gently on the top of my head,
letting out a long,
contented sigh that I felt in my bones.
The holiday season was quickly approaching,
but I felt none of the usual,
crushing anxiety,
that used to accompany the month of December,
because I had intentionally stripped away all the expectations.
We were not going to attend every single festive party,
nor were we going to bankrupt ourselves buying elaborate gifts,
instead,
we chose to focus on small,
meaningful traditions,
like baking sugar cookies and reading stories by the fire.
I spent an afternoon baking with my mother and Maris,
our hands covered in flour and sticky green icing,
as we laughed over our incredibly ugly cookie decorations,
and drank hot apple cider heavily spiced with cinnamon.
It was a completely stress-free,
beautifully imperfect day,
where nobody felt the need to prove their worth,
and the only goal was to enjoy each other's company,
while listening to old,
familiar Christmas carols on the radio.
I realized that by letting go of the perfect holiday image,
I had actually created space for genuine,
authentic memories,
that my boys would carry with them for the rest of their lives.
As the snow continued to fall softly outside the window,
burying the neighborhood in a deep,
quiet sleep,
May you like
I felt entirely insulated from the coldness of the world,
surrounded by the blazing warmth of my resilient family.
