The other day the boys asked me what a “white” Christmas was. So I explained it meant SNOW. That everything was covered with beautiful, powdery melt-in-your-mouth, freezing cold, snow.
Even after my explanation they seemed confused.
But then I paused and looked around. We were sitting on our backyard porch in shorts and bare feet. We were eating a picnic lunch and reviewing our science lesson. We were warm and content in 69 degree weather… in the middle of December.
I guess it’s not a wonder that they didn’t understand.
What is up with this place called the South? And why don’t we have SNOW??!?!?!
Though I’ve only enjoyed a few truly white Christmases myself, I feel kind of bad for them. Most mornings Joshua peeks out the window and says, “Ahhhh!! No snow. It’s not Christmas.”