When the Clock Ticks the Loudest

I sit in a quiet house that is usually filled with the sound of rambunctious boy noise and music playing.  Snowflakes fall silently on pillows of snow and I enjoy it for a moment before my eyes wander over to stare at the large spot on the area rug where dog vomit used to be and now lays a dusting of baking powder that I should be vacuuming up.  Not the prettiest picture to paint of the scene around me.  But it's the reality.  There are dishes to be washed.  Bathrooms to be cleaned, floors to be mopped, though with this weather there's really no point.  Oh and presents to be wrapped too.

But I hate wrapping.  I'm the worst.  And cleaning, though I weirdly enjoy it most days, isn't something I wish to do right about now.

So I'll sit here and ponder, and write and watch the snow float while listening to nothing but the furnace kick on and the snoring of my sweet retriever. I will force myself enjoy this rare quiet feeling of solitude around me.  And I will write.

For 2 days in a row there's been school and there's been an amazingly beautiful winter happening finally.  Facebook statuses run amok with pictures of precious snow angels, pink cheeks and bright eyes.  There have also been grumbles of-course.  About the cold and the shoveling and all of the things associated with winter that are moan-worthy.  Most of those would be from people without small children living under their roof.  Or not.  As a former winter loather I get it.  I also used to dread Christmas.  But since having my boys there's a renewed sense of wonder in the everyday of winter.

We've dressed from head to toe in winter gear for 4 days in a row now and trekked to the small but still fun toboggan hill behind our home.  And every time I fly down those hills with my sons' it takes me right back to my childhood when my Dad would take us tobogganing as often as the snow was there to be flown down upon.  I'm a Mother that pulls her 4 year old to school in a sleigh while others drive by probably looking at me like I'm crazy.  I'm a Mom that climbs the 'mountains' with them and whoops it up while sliding faster than a speeding bullet down a snow hill.  I hope this is the Mama my boys remember.

"Hold out your hands guys and watch the snow flakes land."

"I got one!"  Adrian yells looking down at his snowy mitten.

"See how detailed they are?  Aren't they the most beautiful things?   Did you know that not one single snowflake is the same as another?"

Just like humans.

"Mommy can we make snowflakes when we get home?"  asks my little one as he sits in his made for one sled that he last used when he was two.

"We sure can."  I reply as I turn and pull the yellow rope taut to get moving across the snow before we are late for school.

"Mountain number 8!"  Adrian yells triumphantly as he ascends the next pile of hardened snow that's double the height of his 3 foot almost 6 year old self.  I laugh softly, embracing this moment of parenthood as I trek through the snow pulling my 42 lb youngest behind me.

The clock ticks the loudest on the days when I'm enjoying them the most.