The doorbell rang at half past four, and Scott and I were gone by quarter ‘til five, before the sitter could change her mind. Even almost two years ago, it was hard to get somebody to watch Sam. Not to mention that she was fifteen and being dropped off by her Dad, and it was snowing in central Alabama.
I don’t remember exactly where we went. Dinner at least. Probably a movie. Anything at all to recover from the holidays. I do recall wandering around Whole Earth (or whatever that store is) one of the few venues that hadn’t simply shut down because of a few centimeters of white precipitation.
Mostly, I remember that when we came home, the kids and sitter had built a perfect snowman, of the variety I could never achieve as a child. I had been avoiding going outside in the disgusting white stuff at all, and the sitter must have bundled them up and taken them out there first thing. I realized only after the fact that I had done this on purpose, hired someone else to play in the snow with my children.
I hate winter. Its relative absence is one of the things I value most about living down South. We rarely get anything resembling sleet, let alone actual flaky matter. And when we do, the governor pretty well has to close the state. So Scott and I left that afternoon to see a town deserted, and we came home that evening to admire the novelty of a white roof and yard, of a man all built up under our front ash tree.
We parked in the garage, paid the sitter, and congratulated ourselves on giving our children an experience without suffering through it ourselves. We sat down inside to enjoy the scene without. And while we watched, once more, the snow began to fall.
Ah. It is World Market. Now we know. Beam Me Back Up