This evening, after my husband arrived home from work, he found the kids and I on our way out, ready to get to work on a snowman after it had snowed all day. It’s interesting how my affection for winter has steadily grown ever since we had our children. Their sheer delight at frolicking in snowdrifts has gotten me out of my winter hibernation mode and much more willing to be outdoors during the cold season.

This evening was simply beautiful. It turns out that the snow was not quite the right consistency to make a snowman (according to my husband anyway. I, the African girl, would not know the difference!). We still made the most of our time outside. I attempted to walk through knee deep snow around our backyard tugging my children behind me on a sled. “All aboard!” I would shout every time I was ready to take off on another tour around our house, as the kids scrambled to get on to the sled. It’s days like this that I am especially grateful for where we live. Our home has seen so many special memories.

As my son and husband began rolling around in the snow, my daughter perched herself on a snow-mound at a safe distance observing with keen interest the scene unfolding before her. I noticed the empty sled discarded on the snowbank and spontaneously decided to lay down on it with my face upwards to the sky. The snow was still gently falling. It felt fresh as it tickled my cheeks. I looked over towards my husband and joked, “Look, I’m ‘snow-bathing'” before I closed my eyes, listening to my children’s giggles float through the winter air.