The first snow

We woke up to fresh snow and a winter break. No school to attend, errands to run, or activities to go to.

Freshly fallen snow staring at us through the window.

For a moment, I felt a jolt of excitement with my kiddos as they were so excited to get out and embrace it. Snowmen, snow angels and sledding were at the top of the list. I thought back of how much I loved playing in the snow as a kid myself, and was happy to create memories with them.

Then reality set in. Getting the right clothes together to fit the right kid. Then someone had to go to the bathroom. Then we had to find gloves. Again. And a different hat because the hat we had was too itchy. Then the one year old was hungry because she was too distracted when everyone else had eaten breakfast. And then the three year old, who was standing at the door had to go potty. Again. And I still had to put on snow clothes.

My mind went from excitement, to patience, to exhaustion, to frustration. "I simply wanted to go out in the snow with them. WHY is this so stinking difficult?!" I told myself.

By the time we all made it out the door, my mind had turned it into another task on the list. "Well, we're here, so let's do this so we can go back inside" kind of a feeling. Not how I wanted to experience the first snow storm with my kiddos.

So I took a deep breath. It was crisp air and filled my lungs with cold energizing alertness. I looked across at the field of snow in front of me. Untouched. Glistening in the sunshine, and glasslike flat. It was silent. Feeling present again, I pointed the direction of the 'perfectly fallen snow.'

"It looks like Elsa's castle!" my three year old jumped up and down in her clunky snow boots. My son launched ahead of the group to get a head start on sledding.

As I was pointing, I felt a smile come back over my face. My head turned slightly, and I saw a new angle of snow. This snow, also untouched, was by a pocket of trees. Unlike the beautiful flat snow, it was full of bumps and ridges. Shadows fell behind each ridge, and the glittering sparkles were mixed throughout the sun and the shadows.

This quiet yet profound thought hit me like a truck:

"It's not the glasslike, flat snow that brings beauty. It's recognizing the highs and the lows. Seeing the peaks and the valleys are what make the glistening and the sun-kissed snow so beautiful. You've felt the valleys this morning. Now create your peaks."

I chose to listen. To leave the frustration of "getting out the door" at the door. To allow myself to feel the peaks.

5 Steps I've found helpful to allow myself to let go of frustration:

1. Empathize. There's a part of me that hears "it's too scratchy" coming out of my little one's mouth and I simply want to say "you get what you get and you don't throw a fit." And, actually I do, depending on the situation. But, I took a minute to listen, tried it by my ears myself, and it was pretty dang scratchy. Enough that I'd probably go switch it myself. And since this one really didn't know where another hat was, I was the first person to ask.
2. Breathe. Especially after coming out of those valleys. When the 'rush' has passed, and we're transitioning into the next stage (for us it was walking outside), allowing myself to feel a few breaths helps me become present again.
3. Look. For me, I first recognized the glass like snow and glitter. Recognize something with a feeling of gratitude. No matter the location. No matter the situation. Find one small thing, and try to feel it.
4. Share. Whatever I see, I try to point it out to my kiddos. While their reactions vary, they often bring a small smile to my face as I realize how much they often teach me in such unexpected moments.
5. Listen. To that quiet, soft voice that knows who I am. Let go of the negativity (it's in the past), and choose to embrace what happens in the present moment. Who knows, I might see even more peaks.