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I got up too late to see them off. The only tangible evidence that they had been here at all was their footprints in the snow.
That was magic.
Thanksgiving was cold and gray, and quite rainy. Overnight the rain had turned to snow, leaving the ground completely white by morning. For two Arizona kids not used to seeing snow every day, its sudden appearance overnight was nothing short of magic. When one and a half year-old Tommy-girl got up, she just took it in stride, neither impressed, nor bored with the snow –it just was.
But Jay was captivated. First, he stopped dead in his tracks at the top of the stairs. Then he started giggling. Tommy knew something was up, so she started paying more attention. We picked up Tommy and Jay, and stood them on the windowsill, their noses pressed against the glass as they took in a world that had suddenly gone monochromatic white.
“Snow,“ Jay giggled over and over.
“Wow, “added Tommy, in one of the few words I can understand in her one and a half year-old dialect.
After the usual rigmarole of getting small children bundled up to go outside, out they went. Jay promptly marched up and down the deck, leaving distinct footprints everywhere he went. There were some snow angels, and a few sledding trips up and down our small hill. After a few minutes it was cold, and time to come in – two kids thoroughly happy from their experience with the snow .
More wonder followed through the weekend. Looking at the Christmas windows at the Grand America hotel. Discovering the joy of cooking with Mita, and getting to eat dried pineapple for the first time. Making instant friends out of distant cousins at a family reunion. Assembling a new train set to go around the Christmas tree.
And then… sadness. Jay was almost inconsolable as he gave hugs before bed last night, holding onto each person longer than ever, not wanting the weekend to end. It was adorable. And a little heartbreaking.
We should all be so lucky to have such great kids in our lives. Small children turn what has become the every day, quotidian life that we lead as adults into wonder after wonder after wonder. The unabashed giggling is infectious. The sadness at not wanting it to end is real, but we don’t let ourselves show it as adults very often. But kids? They just let it all show on their faces: joy, wonder, amazement, sadness, friendship, frustration. It’s real, fleeting, and wonderful.
It was the same on our trip to Minnesota. Callum was almost beside himself with excitement to show us how he figured out the secret dinosaur and simultaneously learned so much by going to the science museum. Lola was completely immersed in her own world, as she danced on our walk to the waterfall, almost oblivious to how beautiful it was because the world in her head is so much more entertaining.
I got up too late to see them off. But there are still footprints in the snow to remind me of a great holiday weekend. In a few days (or maybe hours) those footprints will be gone, too. Then I will have the memories. But those fade too. Eventually all that remains are the feelings we experienced— feelings of being loved.
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