How to make a snow day magical

and why you age a hundred years after wrestling a child into snow gear

I’m mad at myself that I was mad at a snow day. These were the days we dreamed of as kids, pajamas inside out and all. But listen, daycare closed, my house is swarming with sickness (as always), and I just bought a new 2024 paper planner that I inked up with my plans for the week. Now I’m questioning why I didn’t buy a pencil with a good eraser for that lovely planner.

The social media comparison game feels a little next level on snow days. Like where are the pictures of the tears and the snot and the full out meltdowns on the floor as you’re attempting to bundle up a tiny human in one thousand layers and convincing him that this will be THE TIME OF HIS LIFE?! I see none of that in my feed. I see all shiny white smiles and perfectly round snowmen and faces (parents and children) full of joy and wonder.

I texted my cousins to ask, please, what is the secret to getting toddlers in snow gear without them losing their minds? At least they were kind enough to comfort me with their responses: LOL… Oh, don’t be fooled. I do the minimum layers and we try to last 45 seconds, just long enough to snap a photo.

Meanwhile, I’m over here assuming they’re having hours and hours of endless fun rolling around together in the blissful snow.

My husband, under the weather, yet cozy on the couch as he worked from home and his life experienced very minimal interruption during this unexpected snow day, casually suggests that we should take him outside *again* after his afternoon nap. Yes, that we should do the dance required to put on one thousand layers of clothing AGAIN. I lost it.

What I heard him say (that he didn’t say) is that I am a bad mom for turning on an endless loop of Paw Patrol episodes as I try to get work done and for not wanting to do all that it takes (again) to go outside in the freezing cold.

(The life of a SAHM who also works is truly a recipe for complexity.)

Apparently, he really did mean *we* should go outside in the snow together as a family. We all bundled up and slid down our hill again on my husband’s childhood sled that my mother-in-law dusted off and delivered to us. We taught our son the most important life lesson: you can actually eat snow. He giggled.

Our tiny human looked adorably paralyzed by his tiny mittens as he held his arms out as if frozen in place the entire time, as my husband and I pulled him up and down the hill in our front yard over and over again. (Speaking of which, someone please comment with mittens that actually go on AND stay on toddlers. This is definitely on the top of my list for what to Google next.)

Despite all of my frustrations, it really turned into a simple and magical day.

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During naps and cracks of time in my day, I managed to write this poem of sorts. And, yes, I plan to share this on social media (despite my recent social media rants, here and here) in an effort to use these tools to share meaningful words. I hope you’ll help spread my words.

Maybe that’s the secret to making a snow day magical: find pockets of inspiration and creativity and space to take a deep breath.

Give these a try…

1. My husband remembers making snow ice cream as a kid. He texted his mom for the recipe. She told him to Google it, and I just love that answer so much. :) Here is a recipe for snow ice cream. Have you ever made snow ice cream?

2. On snow days and full-time mom days, I like to listen to a podcast in one ear while I’m momming, aka changing diapers and wiping down counters for the 17th time in 2 hours. It makes me think and helps me learn (and feel like I’m talking to adults about adult things.) I loved so much about this episode of “It’s OK That You’re Not OK with Megan Devine” where she interviewed author,

   Maggie Smith
   , about her book, You Could Make This Place Beautiful (which I highly recommend and I shared a quote from in this post.) Maggie shared, “I don’t want resilient children if resilience is what we call it when we put kids through things… our kids are so strong out of sheer necessity.” Her 14-year-old daughter said, “You know when people say kids are old souls? It’s because they’ve experienced trauma.” So much to think about in this episode — do kids really need to learn about resilience?

3. Poetry is easy to pick up and read in small doses during snow days. I like to read poems a few times and then carry them with me through the day. Here’s one to savor from

   Kate Baer
   ’s What Kind of Woman (who you might remember from this post):

   Childhood

   I do not remember being born

   or how I knew my mother’s face.

   Only that we woke to the sound

   of pots banging against the stove,

   knowing she would be downstairs.