I'm a sucker for a snow day

Why I will always love this weather

In the first grade, I learned that I could influence the weather. Or, well, at least I could try. I remember sitting on the back carpet of my classroom, looking up at my teacher Mrs. Canavan, a kind woman with a short graying bob and rounded glasses, as she told us about a special ritual.

“I’ll tell you a secret” she said, her hushed tone causing us to lean in closer, hanging on her every word. “They say if you wear your PJs inside out and backward, it will snow.”

I was gobsmacked. How had I never known this?

At the dinner table that evening, I informed my family that we were all to sleep with our pajamas inside out and backward. They humored me, saying of course they would (when of course they wouldn’t) and I proceeded to eat my dinner as fast as I could before rushing upstairs to start getting ready for bed. I had a lot to do, after all. I wanted to get the ritual right. I had to choose the right pajamas, the ones with the most magical juju to coax the snow out of the clouds.

I opened the pajama drawer of my dresser and picked a patterned set that tapered at the wrists and ankles. I figured if it was all to be backward, the form fit would provide the least amount of bunching. I noted how the pattern seemed to disappear once flipped inside out. I’d worn these pajamas many times before, but suddenly they felt like a new pair. It was like hanging your head off your bed and looking at your room from an entirely new perspective: the exact same, yet completely different.

I brushed my teeth as fast as I could and hollered for my dad to come help me lower the blinds in my room. I watched as the white shades slid down the dark glass. Tomorrow, I thought, it’ll all be white, even when they’re open.

My dad said goodnight and I climbed into bed. It took me forever to fall asleep, partially because it was still so early, but also because I was so excited. I couldn’t wait to potentially have the day off from school, to wake up to a winter wonderland. I finally drifted off to sleep and had dreams about how much snow we would get.

In the morning, my eyes shot open and I rushed to my window. I held my breath as I lifted the shade, hoping with all of my might that the ritual had worked.

I deflated when I saw nothing but green and gray.

“It didn’t work!” we informed Mrs. Canavan when we got to school.

“Sometimes it takes a few tries,” she told us.

I continued to try for the next few days. Again and again I’d see nothing but green grass and gray skies from my window the next morning. I was beginning to lose hope but decided I would give it one last try. I fell asleep easily that night, having been disappointed before. The next morning, I hesitantly headed to the window and pulled the shade. My eyes squinted, it was much brighter outside today. I realized, once they adjusted, that it was because everything was covered in snow.

I ran downstairs, skipping steps as I went. “It’s snowing!” I exclaimed. “We know!” my parents answered. They were in the family room, watching the ticker on the bottom of the TV screen for my school to be mentioned. Sure enough, there it was in bright red letters: CANCELLED.

Though I was still in my inside-out-and-backward pajamas, I couldn’t resist going outside. I grabbed only my snow boots and headed out to the backyard. Everything was quiet, muffled, except for the crunch of my boots as I walked. It was so peaceful, magical. I’d seen snow before, of course, I’d been skiing since I could walk. Although surrounded by mountains, our proximity to the ocean means the Seattle area rarely gets snow. At least good snow. This was also the first time I’d ever had a full school day cancelled because of it. The year prior, I’d been in kindergarten where we spent only half days at school. The stakes – and the payoffs – were higher now.

Slowly, the neighborhood began to come to life. As I stood in my backyard, I could hear kids shouting and laughing as they left their houses. My dad poked his head out from the back door. “Alexandra’s on the phone,” he said, holding it out to me. I grabbed it and began coordinating with my best friend and next door neighbor. We’d proceed to spend the entire day together, building snowmen and sledding down the street with our siblings and other neighborhood kids.

There were many days like this growing up, but not too many that they started to lose their luster. Every time was like the first time. The pajama ritual. The hope. The snow. The surprise. The snow day. Eventually, I did stop wearing my pajamas inside out and backward (it, unsurprisingly, wasn’t very comfortable), but my love of the snow day never dissipated.

In fact, just last week, I opened my bedroom curtains on Monday morning to find a fresh blanket of snow and fat fluffy flakes still falling. Immediately, I was a first grader again. I was a kid and this was my candy shop. I had no idea it was going to snow. I hadn’t looked at the forecast, and even if I had, I wouldn’t have necessarily believed it. It was a complete surprise, a true and utter delight.

“It’s snowing!” I exclaimed to my husband from upstairs.

“I know!” he replied, already slipping on his jacket at the back door.

I ran down to grab mine, throwing it right over my right-side-out pajamas. Normally, the two of us work out in the morning – a Peloton ride for him, Pilates for me – but that morning, we decided to play in the backyard with our dog instead. We chased her around, laughing as she evaded us, her little paws making fresh tracks. We made snowballs and threw them for her to chomp in midair. Every time, my heart swelled with the sheer joy of it. It was like a Hallmark movie or a Rockwell painting, but better. It was life.

Later that day, we walked down to the park at the end of our street to meet up with our friends and their dogs. As we walked down our driveway, we ran into two of our our next door neighbors – a mother and her grade school-aged daughter – sledding down the hill. I’ve chatted with the mom before, but I only know a few things about her and her family. In the few minutes we spent talking to her in the snowy street, I learned that she’s one of seven siblings – something that might never have come up if we didn’t happen to have this opportunity to connect.

At the park, we reveled in the chance to visit with our friends. Working from home, my husband and I can take walks whenever we please, but we don’t usually have company. Though we still had to work, the snow day meant we could see our friends, now that didn’t have to commute into their respective offices. We spent an hour laughing at our dogs getting the zoomies and eating their body weight in snow.

By mid afternoon, the sun came out and everything started to melt. That’s the thing about Seattle area snow, it leaves as quickly as it arrives. By now, of course, I know I can’t actually influence the weather, and although it’s always hard to watch it go, I find there’s a beauty in the brevity. Because these days are so far and few between, their mere existence is magical. I love the snow simply because it doesn’t last forever, because it makes me enjoy it in the moment and appreciate it after it’s gone. I love it because it makes me feel like a kid – like myself – again.

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Author’s Note:

Sarah Hartley

wrote a fun post about snow days recently, complete with an adorable photo. It inspired me to write this post and share a few photos (and a video) of my own. Please enjoy! ❄️ 🤍