There's Snow Place Like Home

It's five thirty in the morning, and I've already dropped my daughter at the airport and arrived at my Starbucks. It's been a while since I've been here at this hour with my laptop; the addition of my two older children to the household for winter break altered my routine.

She was supposed to leave yesterday, but a relentless storm kept her snowed in for one more day -- an unexpected bonus. After a harrowing morning of driving around running last minute errands in near white out conditions, a courtesy call from American Airlines spared us from the pointless ride to the airport. Instead, we picked up greasy burgers and fries for the three of us (my son was up by then) and hunkered down for a cozy snowy afternoon. The food stuck to my ribs but the easy laughter was the perfect antidote to the heaviness of the meal. It was like old times.

The three of us -- my two older children and I -- used to spend lots of time together. Only fifteen months apart, they grew up as best buddies, at least until the social pressures of school interfered. They spoke their own language -- the special language of virtual Irish twins -- and created a world full of games and fantasies that kept them happily occupied for hours on end. I used to love to watch them.

As they grew, their differences became more apparent, and there were times -- during the high school years -- when a grunt was the best they could offer each other (or me, for that matter). As young adults, they have pursued different paths, and have different dreams. Probably not so different, but in their minds, the discrepancies have caused some tension. They've become suspicious of each other, defensive almost, as if their differences necessarily lead to judgment. Harsh judgment.

And so they went at each other the other day. I got the frustrated phone call from my daughter, my son disappeared for a while to chill. I stayed out of the way, offering only an ear and whatever version of unconditional love and support I could demonstrate. The air cleared, tempers cooled, and after dinner, after I had gone to bed, they talked, they apologized to each other, and they hugged. It don't get any better than that.

The snowy afternoon sealed the deal. The three of us sat on the couch, fighting for space under the motley collection of blankets, watching a movie. It was Tuesday, and the three cleaning ladies had arrived for the hour-long whirlwind spin through the house. Every time we tried to play the movie, the vacuum went on, and the screaming Polish conversation drowned out whatever the vacuum could not. During a brief vacuuming lull, as we tried yet again, Leo the lab woke from his afternoon nap to alert Manny the obese puggle that the snow plow had arrived; the two of them barked until the job was done and the intruders were safely out of sight.

The three of us laughed until our faces hurt. I could still see them as they used to be, their chubby cheeks jiggling with glee over some private joke. Ahhh, the comforts of home sweet home.