Home Hill

There is a small kicker built carefully into the short hill by the driveway, and ski tracks mark the snow throughout the yard. Spending all their Saturdays and Sundays and vacation days from late November through mid-April in their ski boots is, apparently, not enough for my kids. So, they have built a mini ski-and-sled park at home.

Many days, some combination of my children is outside from moments after we return home from school until I haul them in for dinner. Sometimes they gulp their food down and run back out to the cold darkness for a few more minutes of snow play before bedtime. One evening last week I gave up trying to get the kids inside and just ate dinner by myself.

I like to think that my children are not overscheduled, but the truth is that in the winter, our family is busy. Mainly that is due to our skiing addiction and the obligations that come with that. But as the kids grow older, it seems there is more busy-ness introduced each season.

Two of them now play instruments, which they are meant to practice on a regular basis. One plays basketball, which means two nights of practice or games each week during the winter. Then there are the afterschool activities, academic and otherwise, which push the calendar toward overflowing.

None of the kids is involved in all of the activities on that calendar, but the logistics of who is supposed to be where, and when they’re supposed to be there, is sometimes overwhelming.

Impromptu playtime, wherever we find it – before school, after dinner, for nearly the entire bonus time of the rare weather-induced delayed start to school – is crucial to keeping all of us balanced. On days with no afterschool activities on the docket, no basketball practice, and no homework, out the kids go, come cold or blowing snow, afternoon sunshine or post-dusk darkness.

They grab sleds or skis. Brooms, shovels, and rakes are hauled off the porch and out of the garage for the purpose of “grooming” the ski runs and sledding hill. The puppy bounces enthusiastically after her kids, excited by their excitement.

On the little hill that runs from the curve of the driveway into the stubbly field, the kids make laps. They schuss down on their skis, hitting the little kicker, competing in impromptu races, or simply seeking a few seconds of speed and cold wind in their faces.

They get running starts to build momentum before jumping, head-first and belly-down, onto sleds. They link arms to slide downhill together, side by side. They develop elaborate, clumsily acrobatic tricks that involve multiple people and someone transferring from one moving sled to another on their way down the hill.

Sometimes, during these snow-sliding escapades, someone lands on a face or bonks a knee into an ice chunk or gets an arm twisted the wrong way. Then, there are tears as the wounded party hobbles inside. But they always go back out, later that night or at the next obligation-free opportunity, taking to the home hill with the abandon of kids set free. 

Original content by Meghan McCarthy McPhaul, posted to her blog, Writings From a Full Life. This essay also appears as Meghan's Close to Home column in the Feb. 10, 2017 issue of the Littleton Record. 

Snow Day (Sort Of)

Tuesday morning I awoke to the aggravating sound of sleet pelting the bedroom windows. I much prefer the soft whisper of snowflakes to the sideways assault of frozen water, for a whole host of reasons. One is that whispers are easier to sleep through.

What a snow day should look like...

Regardless, the kids were happy to have a day off from school, even if it was more of a “sleet day” than a “snow day.”

Snow days (or sleet-and-freezing-rain days) are the only chance my brood gets to sleep in during the winter. Otherwise, we are up early for school, and just as early – sometimes earlier – for weekend skiing. It was nice Tuesday not to have to drag the kids out of bed in the dark of a winter morning.

Instead, they emerged on their own time, all tousle-haired and sleepy-eyed – and confused about why they were allowed to sleep late (which, in our house, means 7 o’clock). “No school? A snow day?” asked my son when he heard the news. “Yes!”

It’s been a while since we’ve had a snow day. When the kids were younger, we used to build little kickers in the back yard on the rare weather-induced day off. The kids would fly off the jumps on sleds or skis and come back inside with rosy cheeks and wet mittens.

Or we’d make snow creatures in the front yard. Some winters we’ve had such a huge pile of snow at the edge of the driveway, the kids could build snow forts complete with sitting areas and tunnels and exit slides.

We haven’t had a snowbank worthy of a fort for a couple of winters now. In December the snow-building opportunities seemed to be looking up. The plow had made decent piles in the fort area. Elsewhere in the yard, the kids had shaped and piled blocks of snow to make the start of an igloo. There was even a small snowman – until the puppy ate it.

Alas, all that white stuff has long since melted. Tuesday’s warm temps and so-called “mixed precipitation” resulted mainly in our driveway-turned-skating-rink melting out – again – into large puddles of slush. There was not enough snow to make even one snowball, let alone an elaborate structure.

Instead, we went for a long walk in the woods, discovering ice-fringed hemlock and beech branches before the temperature warmed to a melting degree. In the shelter of the trees, the mixed precip had left enough white to make a satisfying crunch underfoot, although we had to step carefully through the not-quite-frozen marshy area along our route.

Despite the sad, snowless state of the yard, the sleet day timing was perfect. The day before, two of these children had pulled in quite the haul of birthday presents, which they now had time to properly explore. One kid was recovering from a cold, and we both appreciated the bonus relaxation time to push her back toward healthy.

The day also left us with time for catch-up chores. In the process of cleaning up, lost mittens were found buried under the birthday goodies, new clothes given as Christmas presents were unearthed in the corner of a bedroom, and long-forgotten toys were happily rediscovered.

There were also a few rounds of board games played, some quiet coloring time, bouts of spontaneous snuggling, and – of course – the arguments that come from too much together time.

By the end of the day, the puppy and I were both exhausted, even if the kids seemed rejuvenated by this bonus day off. I thought of my friend in Tahoe, where they’ve received something like 300 inches (that’s 25 feet!) of snow this month. Her kids have had 10 snow days in the last few weeks. That means they’ve been out of school almost twice as many days as they’ve been in.

While the occasional snow day is a nice pause in routine, I’m not sure I’d take 10 of them in a month. But I sure would like some of that snow.
 
Original content by Meghan McCarthy McPhaul, posted to her Blog: Writings From a Full Life. This essay also appears as Meghan's Close to Home column in the January 27, 2016 edition of the Littleton Record.

Seasonal Shift

My children were in the yard basking in the March sunshine, still bundled up in snow pants and parkas one recent afternoon when my daughter announced she was tired of winter and wanted it to be spring. The kids started talking about all the things they love about warmer weather months: butterflies and kayaking, the chorus of spring peepers from the pond nearby, eating ice cream on the porch after dinner.

Sliding through the seasons...

This daydream of spring was momentary, and soon the kids were embracing winter again, jumping into some game that involved snow and imagination, with white tigers, sled dogs, and arctic seals overtaking the tunnels and caves and sliding troughs of the snow fort.

I am just as conflicted during these in-between-seasons times: simultaneously longing for the season that will be here eventually, and wistful for the one that will soon pass. In March, I strive to squeeze in as many wintery things as I can, and I dream of warmer weather hikes and bike rides, green grass and flowers, walking outside without having to don extra layers against the chill.

As winter, which certainly still has long to linger, shows signs of a slow fade, we get down to our favorite cold weather fun before it’s too late – often with the benefit of warmer days and sun on our faces. Last week, before the temperature warmed enough to melt the ice, we embarked on an after-school outing to the town skating rink, where the kids and their friends glided and stutter-stepped around the ice, ditching outer layers in the relative warmth of a March afternoon.

Over the weekend my husband dragged two old toboggans from the garage, where they’d been gathering dust for a few years, and we carted them just up the road to a hill where he used to sled as a kid. With friends and dog we reveled in an afternoon of flying downhill on something other than skis. Once the track was set, the old toboggans and newer plastic sleds flew right across the car-less road and over the snowbank on the other side. Laughter and screaming giggles were the day’s soundtrack. Several climbs back up through deep snow made for tired, but very happy, kids – and parents.

With the end of ski season clearly on the horizon, I am scheming as many more runs as possible. It’s been a fine ski season, with lots of snow, uncharacteristically fluffy for New England, and the cover is still good, even in the trees, which is where the kids like to be. In January and February, I may sometimes skip a ski morning to complete some other, more necessary, task. In March there are no excuses: ski now, or wait until December rolls around again.

Soon will come that early spring day when the kids return home from the mountain and pull their bikes from the garage for an après ski spin. By then the driveway – now a sheet of ice in various stages of melting and refreezing – will be a mire of mud and puddles, and the front hall a confused jumble of mud boots and snow boots, ski pants and raincoats, winter hats and ball caps.

For now, the icicles continue their steady drip, and the snowbanks shrink slowly. The chickadees’ song becomes louder and more constantly present. The March wind rushing through the trees holds both the stubborn chill of winter and the promise of the coming spring, and our thoughts shift on that breeze from one season to the next. 

Original content by Meghan McCarthy McPhaul, posted to her Blog: Writings From a Full Life. This essay also appears as Meghan's Close to Home column in the March 13, 2015 edition of the Littleton Record.