And so it begins.

I mourned yesterday.  Slushy, wet, cloudy, dark . . . and two sick kids home from school.  And today, my sorrow has turned to joy! 

I was up 'til 11:30 p.m. give or take a few.  Reading (because I napped too long with Annie that afternoon)  my civil war book, of course (an insightful, smart, devastating, emotional read).  I refuse to look at the clock at times like that to save myself from mental martyrdom the next day.  If I don't know the time, I can't complain about it.  Ignorance is bliss.  That's my philosphy.  Shoot, I just remembered the psalm or proverb, whatever it is, "Folly is joy to those destitute of wisdom."  Oops. 

I switched off my light and lay there in the dark.  All I could hear was Ben's soft breaths because his initial round of delightful snoring passed while I was reading.  Looking out my window, I relished the stillness of my peaceful, warm room.  The night glowed, silvery and oddly bright because of the snow blanketing the ground.  Life was simple at that moment.  Quiet and white.  Beautiful.  Like tangible peace, does that make sense?  I sat there absorbing it.  Not worrying about anything (which is rare).  And I slept just as peacefully through the night.

Morning dawned crisp and bright because of the pristine snow.  All four kids joined my scripture study before 6 a.m., two still sick.  But that made them still, which I appreciated.  No little bodies bouncing on me or my scriptures.  That's always a treat!

I wish you could've seen me in my jammies and boots, trapsing out to the shop in search of snow clothes.  Lincoln was set on wearing his gear to school, as he was the only one going today.  I was a sight, believe me.  And not a pretty one.  It was actually fun to help him get his snow stuff on.  Fun, because it was the first time this year.  My "fun" has a short shelf-life when it comes to mittens and boots.

I revelled in his delight as he rolled in the snow, made angels, and ate it.  Of course, Annie soon followed.  And I'm left with a mess--a happy mess, but still a mess--in my foyer and laundry room.  I thought to myself, And so it begins . . . .