We wake up to snow piled on the outdoor table, still parked where it sat all summer. We were not prepared for this: two inches stuck on green leaves, quivering out of concerned trees. They weren\u2019t prepared either.<\/p>\n
\u201cMama, does this mean it\u2019s almost Christmas?\u201d my boy asks in his pajamas and I shake my head. It\u2019s not even Halloween yet. \u201cBut, Mama, you said when it snowed it would be almost Christmas!\u201d I know I said that. I was wrong.<\/p>\n
Seasons exist for a reason. Snow is not supposed to sit on green leaves. They sag by the window.<\/p>\n
We\u2019re visiting my parents in the part of Texas that actually gets snow. (Though not in October!) I dress my boy in what we have: sweatpants, grandma\u2019s socks, sneakers, lady cotton gloves, and a light jacket. He runs out back and sticks his hands in the wet snow. He needs help with the snowball smashing. I leave the baby playing on the living room floor, put boots over my cozy socks, a jacket over my pjs. We make snowballs and laugh.<\/p>\n
I\u2019m inside much sooner. What is it with little kids and their inability to feel cold? He doesn\u2019t mind, comes in only with the promise of hot chocolate.<\/p>\n
All morning I stare at those tree leaves. I feel for them. It\u2019s hard to wake up to such a shock; those branches need their dry bones of winter to hold snow. But here they are living and aching with the weight. I want to help them, to bring out a broom, a hairdryer, my bare hands, and wipe them clean.<\/p>\n
Of course, snow like this can\u2019t stick long. After all, we were wearing shorts and t-shirts three days ago. The sun shoves itself out on them, a savior for the leaves just now turning orange. Everyone sighs. Especially the squirrels, who hoped they\u2019d have a little longer to gather.<\/p>\n
The boy stomps in the slush left in the driveway. The baby wears a brown fleece bear suit his brother perfected 3 years before.<\/p>\n
I hold my hands out at the sky and wonder.<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n