Snow Out

“Mom, can I get something to eat for breakfast, because I’m quite hungry.”

It wasn’t early or anything, but for a snowed-in-services-canceled Sunday morning, it would have been nice to sleep in.

No such luck.

“Mom, can I sleep in here with you and Dad?”

“Sure.”

He rolled himself in under about four or five layers of bedding, constant wiggling. “Ahhhh. I’m a nice toasty little cookie.”

Finally, Oxbear emerged from the bed.

“Listen, Puck. I’m going to go take a shower. You let your mom rest. You haven’t let her go back to sleep yet.”

“Okay, Dad.”

I’ll be darned if the shower didn’t turn on and that “nice toasty little cookie” threw open the curtains to blinding white snow. At least the sun wasn’t up. Then he stuck himself back in the covers like a fat burrito. “I’m going to rest my head on the pillow and dream of cakes.”

When I joined him at the breakfast table, I guess I mentioned something about finishing the fuzzy poster still waiting on the table for his skills in artistry.

He just grinned back at me. “I’ll do it when I’m an old grampy. Woman!”

Makeshift church services (a.k.a. devotions) began with Puck asking streams of questions, big questions.

“What if it’s not true? What if we only have one life?”

“What if someone made up God?”

“When was the first Bible?”

“You’re saying that God’s not two gods, but he’s three persons?”

Sort of an impromptu Sunday School lesson, I guess. We all had a good chat.

Despite the snow-out, we ended up at the Big House, all eleven of us off and on, by mid-afternoon anyway. Carrie-Bri was in the process of stripping the last remnants of indigo from Linnea’s hair before a re-dye. The intermediate result was blonde and magenta. Linnea didn’t seem too bothered. If there’s one thing a Snicketts girl handles well, it’s hair disasters.

Dress shopping for Linnea’s graduation. Taxes for the kids. Rose’s red velvet Oreos. Linnea left for “youth group” at Starbuck’s; she’s a leader now; one of those duties involved importing a waffle iron for Sunday School, apparently. Bratwursts, roasted potatoes. Thick snow out the windows. Dad’s Henry Mancini.