We had our first real blizzard here recently, the likes of which I cannot remember. For Elise and Luke, it was nothing less than magic.

Elise: Snow! Snow! Snow!

Luke: No! No! No!

They raced from window to window, sticking their mouths on the glass in utter delight.

I just kept repeating, “I can’t believe how much snow we’re getting!” about 1,000 times, watching our car parked outside slowly get eaten by a large white fungus.

Amazingly, we were prepared for the snow—after sticking Elise’s 4T body in a 2T snowsuit for 2 years running, we finally got her a new snowsuit. (Snowsuit capris: cute, not functional.)

Pretty soon, we were getting them both ready to experience their first ever blizzard outdoor play. (This is kind of like scorching-hot-desert play and Tsunami-jump-the-waves play.) First, we applied the gear: snowsuit, boots, jacket, scarf, hat and gloves x 2 children (this statement does not adequately capture the elaborate and unnecessarily painful process of putting gloves on a 2 year-old). Then, I open the back door just long enough for them to step down onto the back step before, quick, closing it right away so as not to freeze to death from the draft.

What? I’m not the hardy extreme-temperature type. I was also still wearing my pajamas.

Elise was thrilled and happily frolicked in the blizzard, wind gusts periodically pelting the 5-mile radius with sudden white.

Luke, though, stood motionless like a mannequin, probably wondering what he did to earn himself a time-out of especially heinous proportions.

He lasted less than 5 minutes before beating on the back door to get let in, looking decidedly non-enthused.

Elise, though, she rolled around in the snow, jumped, laughed, stomped, kicked and made snow angels, all the while in midst of the blizzard (20 inches total!).

Watching her made me feel like a kid again. Until I got the message that school would be canceled for the next 2 days.

No! No! No!