By Michele Dotson
In Mint Hill, snowflakes the size of quarters fell from gray skies. I donned my ski bibs, winter boots, turtle neck, sweatshirt, hat and gloves and trekked outside with my 14 year old daughter to do some sledding in the driveway.
We made snow angels. We laughed and got pink cheeks and stayed outside for four and a half hours.
Then we had hot chocolate with huge marshmallows and watched Pride and Prejudice, snuggled together under a soft blanket.
There, young men played Frisbee golf, parents pulled children on sleds, and pushed them on swings.
Young and old alike slid down the hills behind the tennis courts on everything from sheets of plastic to wheel barrow tubs.
We built ramps at the end of the runs and flew into the air.
The wind whipped our faces.
We laughed and screamed as we headed toward the briar patch, and it all reminded me of my childhood.
Carefree days of trudging through the snow to the best sledding hills.
Shoveling off the creek (pronounced “crick” where I come from) so we could ice skate.
Staying outside so long our hair froze in icy strands and the laces on our boots were stiff and immovable.
There is a certain freedom that comes with a snow day.
Special permission to revisit that time in life when the only things that mattered were your friends, fun, and making sure to come in before the streetlights came on.
Today, I didn’t go to work. I didn’t pay any bills, or call Virgin Mobile about my son’s broken cell phone. I stayed outside all day, met new people, shared an awesome day of sledding and snow fun.
I didn’t make it home until after dark and the moon was full and shining through the trees. That’s ok, though, because I’m an adult and I can come home when I please.
But out there on the hills today, I felt like a kid again.
And it was wonderful.
Even if it was just for a day.