So yesterday, the temperature peaked at a balmy 38 degrees. We took advantage of the relative warmth by piling on our scarves and hats and taking a walk to Coffee Creek Park. I hadn’t realized how stale the breath was in my lungs until I heartily inhaled the invigoratingly fresh air, which felt like a cold shot of adrenaline to my restless and sluggish body. What a fantastic mood we were in, taking our good old time meandering down the sidewalk, stomping on snow mounds, using our outside voices. When we finally arrived at our destination, my children marveled at the way winter had transformed the playground, the trail, and the wooden bridge, now nearly covered in chunks of snow. The boys, who had brought along hockey sticks, started chipping away at the cloudy sheet of ice smoothed over the creek like a delicate layer of powdered sugar frosting on a cake. We watched transfixed as the frozen slabs cracked, detached, then floated lazily past us. “Look, mama, I hit it!” said little Mary, her arm still raised from lobbing a snowball toward her moving target. For a full fifteen minutes, that scene involving the kids and me being all explorative and appreciative of God’s creation, was the very definition of, “idyllic.”
In the blink of eye, however (as it so often goes), our sense of tranquility was swiftly shattered. My oldest son began shrieking, due to the fact that somehow or another he’d ended up taking a wrong step (putting too much faith in the durability of the ice), which landed him waist high in that old dirty, frigid creek water (um…YIKES!); thus our excursion was wrapped up pronto. We literally fled home to get Elijah out of those wet clothes and hooked up stat to an IV of hot chocolate.
Here’s hoping today is far less exciting! : )