This morning we woke up to that eerie utter stillness that says snow fell during the night. I looked outside and saw that our neighborhood had been blessed with about five inches of very heavy snow. The pine trees in our backyard are bent over from the weight of the flakes, and in the early dawn light, the entire world glistened in pure innocence.
The boys were up at 6am, asking if they could read until breakfast. I sadly had to tell them no, not yet - snow means work. The driveway had to be shoveled so Sean could leave for work, and Jonathan jumped on that chore. Sean's breakfast, lunch, and dinner also needed to be packed (he works 24 hour shifts), and James and Jacob helped with bagging chips and washing fruit. We managed to have everything ready in plenty of time for Sean to leave early, which seemed smart, since we don't know the road conditions.
School is delayed two hours, and I'm grateful. Normally, right now, I would be rushing around making sure the boys are ready to leave ("Jacob, you need to wear layers for warmth" followed by "Um, Jacob, by layers I didn't mean to wear eight tee-shirts. Just one tee-shirt and a sweater is enough!"). But thanks to the late start, I am able to type this while oatmeal simmers on the stove, and the boys are mashing bananas to make bread. We'll all be able to take some time to cuddle on the couch with our books and read together. And our morning won't be rushed at all.
I wish every day was a late-start day.