ArcaMax

I shook off the snowflakes and put the pumpkin roll in the Christmas gift bag in the passenger seat. The snow hadn't let up as I visited with a constituent whose daughter was a baker. Neither had the emails, but they were a similar sweet gift: meeting cancellations due to inclement weather.

It meant I had time to pick up the kids with my mom as the storm rolled in, continuing to cover the town in the first snow we'd seen in years. Moisture in the desert is always a spectacle, but this time, it was accompanied by something rarer still: a pause. Nonessential government closings, the announcement of a morning school delay, and more meetings postponed.

Life slid to a stop on impending black ice, but not for the kids eager to get out in the backyard and try for a snowman that might only become a snow gnome.

When we got home from school, the kids went outside, laughing and throwing tiny snowballs made from the thinnest layer of powder. They made do with socks as mittens because desert attire doesn't include snow gear.

I decided it was time for jammies for me and making chicken noodle soup. As I cut the onions, I felt an unexpected pang of gratitude for how the day had unfolded. It felt like a gift of a snow day for me, too.

As adults, a weather day like this feels different than it did as children. Back then, it was pure freedom, a chance to leap into fluffy snow embankments and petition for another cup of hot chocolate to thaw your fingers. When you're older, it's an unexpected reprieve from the routines that keep us tethered. The emails can wait, and the world softens, even just for a moment, and if only with fuzzy slippers on a workday.

I'm struck by how rare these pauses feel and how snow days force us to stop, huddle together, and simply be. They remind me of the lockdowns.

If you'd told me in 2020 that I'd someday reflect on that chaotic, uncertain time with a tinge of fondness, I'd have rolled my eyes. Like many parents, I spent those days juggling remote work, virtual school, and my simmering anxiety. But the silver lining I see more clearly now was how it pulled us back to basics.

It was the hours spent in the kiddie pool. It was the sleepovers in the living room. The world outside was unraveling, but inside our little bubble, we concentrated on what it meant to be at home and at peace.

Snow days carry that same energy. They remind us of what home life can be when we let it. There are no frantic commutes, no after-school chaos, just togetherness. Of course, reality looks different on most days. Life feels like a whirlwind between my city council work, my kids' activities, and the constant pull of technology. I'm often torn between responsibilities and the fleeting childhoods unfolding before my eyes.

As the kids came bounding back inside, cheeks red and snow melting in their hair, I stirred the soup, almost ready to eat. They continued to watch the snow fall in a desert that rarely sees it.

For a moment, life's pause felt simple and beautiful. The pauses we can take should remind us to consider the people with whom we share a home as not part of the daily grind but the center of our lives.

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Cassie McClure is a writer, millennial, and unapologetic fan of the Oxford comma. She can be contacted at cassie@mcclurepublications.com. To find out more about Cassie McClure and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate website at www.creators.com.

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