I will say it has been a long go for her at this point, though. Last Friday she left with about sixty of her classmates, teachers and parental chaperones to drive to Mt. Baker for a four day weekend. The plan was to spend most of the first day building snow caves on the mountainside large enough to sleep in that night. The following day was to be spent skiing, snowboarding or snowshoeing. They would eat their meals in the lodge and sleep there for two nights and basically have a blast without their parents. At least the kids whose parents didn’t decide to chaperone. Like me. Sleeping in a snow cave is not my idea of a fun weekend. I’m happy to snowshoe but I would like to come home to my own bed and a hot bath at the end of it. I am too damn old to build my own snow cave, sleep in it, spend an entire day doing physical exercise and still not come home to a massage or a hot shower.

Unfortunately for Eve, the day she came home, it had started to snow here. And by the time she woke up the next morning, I had determined not to send her to school because there was a threat of several more inches. By Tuesday night we had about four inches of snow. Not a ton, but in the Pacific Northwest, with our hills and propensity for freezing temperatures overnight, it renders our cities completely unnavigable. By Wednesday mid-day, we had ten inches of snow and Eve was tired of hanging out with Lola and I. She spent several hours on the phone or video chatting with her best friends, lamenting the fact that their neighborhoods only had two or three inches of snow. Our house exists in this strange microclimate that gets more snow/rain/cold temperatures than the metro areas. Way to live in the suburbs, I know.

Thursday morning I woke up to what I thought was rain falling on the skylights and thought this was it for our snowbound selves. Whew, enough. By the end of the day, we can go back to doing what we normally do and the kids can go to school on Friday. I fell back asleep for an hour. When I awoke at 8:00, I realized I could still hear the sound of ‘rain’ falling, but the skylights weren’t any clearer. That was when I got up and realized the sound was actually ice pellets hitting the snow on the roof. Those continued for about two hours, building up a nice, crunchy layer of ice on top of our now 12 inches of snow.

Since then it has turned to snow and we’ve accumulated another two or so inches. And as much as I’d like to say it is driving me crazy, I can’t. We have plenty of food in the pantry and fridge. The power is still on (for now – there are lots of folks in our area who haven’t had power for eight hours or more). And although the girls are about to skin each other alive, every time I look out the window and see this lovely, fluffy white stuff falling with abandon, softening the edges of everything it comes in contact with and insulating the world from sound, I feel calm. Despite the occasional crack and thunder of a huge tree limb succumbing to the weight of the snow and ice, it is incredibly peaceful. Yesterday I found bear tracks trudging across my front yard. Stepping out on to the deck, the only noise comes from the hungry cries of the stellar jays in the trees. And as soon as I retreat back in to my warm nest, I realize I am safe at home with my girls. I feel cocooned here, knowing that I can’t change what is happening outside and I needn’t even try. The boundaries of my world have shrunk and closed around me like a snug blanket. Everything inside this perimeter is real and important and tangible. Making warm meals. Snuggling with the cat. Playing board games with Lola. Being.