It snowed this past weekend in Atlanta, and it brought back memories of me as a kid, in Michigan, getting ready for school in the morning when it had snowed the night before, continually checking the tv to see if my school's name scrolled across the bottom with the other local closings. 

It rarely did. Even when schools did close for a snow day in Michigan (and I'm talking only if there's like a three feet of snow or more on the ground), my school would always push the boundaries and stay open. I can only remember a handful of real, no-school snow days in my lifetime, and I'd beg my mom to let me stay home, but nope. I always had to go. 

It's worth mentioning that this was a private school, and tuition was not cheap. My mom worked multiple jobs to make sure I could keep going there, so I'm sure she wanted to get all her money's worth, and I'm sure the school wanted the same for every other parent. Looking back now, I get it.  If they cancelled school up north and in the midwest for as much snow as they cancel it down south, the kids wouldn't graduate until they were 25. Back then, though? I hated it. I hated having to layer on clothes, wear my highest boots, throw on my thickest coat and still be cold when I step outside, and  then struggle to wade my way through snow that was often up to my knees. My knees!

I say all this to say: it was nice to have a snow day (and so close to Christmas!). The blitz came through on Friday, which was the day before we had planned our Costco trip for our monthly groceries, which means our fridge was pretty empty, which means we wore our highest boots and thickest coats and stepped outside to walk to one of the few restaurants in the area that was still open for lunch. 

The snow barely touched my ankles, and I didn't hate it.