By now, everyone’s got their blizzard/Snowmageddon/Snowpocalypse/SnOMG story (I’m just very, very thankful mine didn’t involve an impromptu all-nighter on Lake Shore Drive). Ours is not so sensational, although waking up to 20 inches of snow and snow drifts that barricaded your doors is, I guess, not exactly boring either. Hubbie did the heavy lifting (literally, since the snowblower decided to call it quits) while the boys and I colored, painted, read books, and even ventured out for a few minutes. News of neighborly kindness and cross-country skiing curiosities littered Chicago blogs and news feeds throughout the day.
I wasn’t out there participating; yet, in a way, I felt like I was. As cheesy and short-lived as it is, the idea that an entire city slows to a halt is awe-inspiring, if not romantic. We didn’t need to go anywhere, pick up anyone, be on time, or get anything. It was the way things should be.