Mr. Snow Man

The day before yesterday we were hammered with 22 inches of white flaky fun. I always turn into a five year old when the snow falls and am looked at by all the adults with disdain as I brush their snowy cynicism off my shoulders like a case of recurring dandruff. I cherish every flake. As each flake falls, I can see the atmosphere that usually reveals itself only in the highest clouds. A snowy day could mean the perfect snowball, flying down mountains, cave digging, sliding haphazardly on the roads, and most importantly of all? It means I can resume life as a child as I craft the perfect snow man with my little girls. Yesterday we recreated Frosty, top hat and all. He was magnificent in his 6 feet of glory. His scarf was gingerly tied around his solid neck, the pipe was placed perfectly askew from his invisible mouth. The girls and I are sure that he frolicked all around the neighborhood when we weren't looking. And so it lasted for one fabulous day. I drove home from work today and Frosty's head had fallen off. Facial debris was scattered all over the snowy remains of yesterdays landscape of fun. I walked inside with a sullen look as faced the girls with my grim news. "Frosty is down" I said. "Oh well, at least we got to enjoy him yesterday", Charly said. And just like that, every important lesson I have ever tried to teach my children became realized.