Working Mum: Snow should be fun
By Tabitha Ronson
When Master A woke up on Monday and saw the first signs of snow he couldn't contain his excitement.
He jumped up and down on his bed for five minutes, giddy with excitement shouting: "It's snowing, it's snowing, it's snowing..."
My reaction to the news was the polar opposite. My head buried back under the duvet, groaning at the prospect of a miserable journey into work.
On setting out on the school run our differing moods continued. Master A embracing the winterland wonder, delighting at the snowflakes tickling his face; me rejecting it, pulling my coat collar up higher, ski hat down lower to protect myself from the white stuff.
I detest the cold.
Trudging over to the car all I could see was a chilly 10-minute ice-scraping job on the windscreen.
Master A, on the other hand, was looking at ammunition for his next assault. He raced over and began pawing at the thin white layer that had settled on the car.
I watched as he gleefully moulded the little snow there was into a small, odd-shaped sphere. When it was finished he excitedly looked around for a target. As no-one else was around his focus turned to me. I saw the twinkle go out of his eyes and the snowball silently drop to the floor.
"I know you don't like the snow, mummy."
When did I lose that sense of excitement, the magic that is associated with the arrival of snow? When did I only see grey sludge instead of shimmering, sparkling white flakes?
I went over to Master A and knelt down beside him. I picked up the little ball of ice he'd so lovingly crafted and held it in my hand.
"Who said I don't like snow!"
Splat! A bullseye right in the middle of Master A's tummy. A squeal of delight.
The electric windscreen heaters left to do their job, Master A and I let the battle commence. It was an exhilarating, if wet, start to the day.
Working Mum, remembering to sometimes look at the world through a five-year-old's eyes.