We woke in the pre-dawn hours this morning to a soft tap-tap-tapping sound on the windows. Bud flipped on the outside light, looked into our backyard, and squealed "Mama! It's snowing! It's snowing, Mama!"
Sure enough, big, juicy snowflakes were plopping against our deck. Within minutes, a light dust began to gather on the grass, and soon every tree branch we could see had a coating of wet snow clinging to it.
"It's snowing! It's snowing! It's snowing!" Bud sang, as he danced through the house from window to window. He glided over to the kitchen table, where I sat willing my coffee to make its way quickly to all my extremities, and he put his face close enough to mine that the glint in his eye reflected off my glasses.
"It's snowing, Mama. Is it getting to be Christmas time?"
Ah, yes. It all comes back to me now. I remember this from last year: for Bud, the end of Halloween marks the start of Christmas. Add in a snowfall and it's practically December 23rd.
One moment at a time, though. "No, Bud. It's still a long time until Christmas."
"It's getting to be what, Mama?"
"I don't know - what, Bud?"
"It's getting to be Snow Time."
"Yes, it sure is. It's getting to be Snow Time."
And Snow Time is, in itself, a cause for celebration. Just ask Bud. This morning, he dashed through the house digging accessories out of storage and was dressed and ready for school in record time. Despite the fact that the flurries stopped after only a light dusting and despite the fact that the ground was still visible under patches of snow, Bud headed out the door in full winter gear - snow parka, fleece hat, scarf, mittens, snow boots. He even had his snow pants tucked safely in his backpack.
Just in case.
'Cause it's Snow Time. And in Snow Time... well, you just never know.