A Marathon in a Parka

Guest Opinion

By Kate Lewis | Feb. 1, 2025

There’s a certain kind of magic that comes with snow days. The first flakes fall, schools close, and the world slows to a quiet hum under a blanket of white. If you’re a parent of young kids, that magic is accompanied by a fair share of mayhem. Snow days, as I’ve learned, are equal parts wonder and whirlwind.

For a fleeting moment, the day feels like an unexpected gift—maybe I can get another few minutes of sleep, as I hold my breath as if the slightest disturbance will wake the kids immediately. Without fail, I hear the pitter-patter (more like stomping elephants) down the hallway.

The day typically begins with shrieks of excitement from the kids, who can somehow sense that something is different the moment they wake up. Before I’ve even had coffee, the house is alive with the energy of kids whose main mission is to get outside and play in the snow. “Can we go now? Can we go now?”

Dressing small children for our northern Michigan winter climate is a workout worthy of its own Olympic event. The sound of zippers being yanked upward echoes through the house, accompanied by the grunts of effort as I wrestle boots onto squirming feet. There are the base layers, followed by the snow pants, the sweaters, the socks, the boots, the jackets, the hats, the mittens. It’s a marathon in a parka. By the time I’ve stuffed tiny fingers into tiny gloves for the third time, I’m drenched in sweat.

Finally, we burst out the door, looking like a mismatched parade of puffy marshmallows. And then comes the moment we’ve all been waiting for: snow angels, sledding, and pure, unfiltered joy. For approximately two minutes. That’s when someone declares they’re too cold. Or too wet. Or hungry. Or, in the case of my youngest, all three at once.

We trudge back inside, leaving a trail of boots, gloves, and melting snow in our wake. My once-clean floors now resemble sandpaper, thanks to the salt and grit that’s been traipsed in.

The focus shifts to indoor activities. “How many more times can we make cookies?” I wonder aloud as flour dusts every surface of my kitchen. By mid-morning, the house smells like sugar and chaos. The kids are sticky with frosting, the counters are sticky with frosting, and I’m fairly certain my ceiling has somehow become…sticky with frosting.

Next up: arts and crafts. Or maybe it’s a living room dance party. Or a fort-building session that leaves every pillow and blanket in the house piled precariously in the middle of the floor. The kids are delighted; I’m exhausted. By 10am, my list of “fun things to do on a snow day” is already depleted. Is hot chocolate a breakfast food? I’m starting to think it is.

And yet, through all the chaos, there are these tiny, heart-melting moments that make it all worthwhile. The way their little faces light up when they discover the condensation on the windows, the perfect finger drawing canvas. Or the uncontrollable giggles when they intentionally tumble off their sleds racing down the hill. The way they snuggle under a blanket, cheeks rosy from the cold, as they sip their cocoa.

As the day wears on, I find myself counting the hours until bedtime. By the time the sun sets, the house looks like a tornado tore through it, and I’m silently pleading for school to reopen tomorrow.

But then the next day comes, and life returns to its usual pace. And that’s when it hits me: I miss it. I miss the noise, the mess, the laughter. I miss the snow angels, the cookie crumbs, and the sticky-frosting chaos.

There will come a day when my kids won’t need me to wrestle them into snow pants or bake cookies with them. There will come a day when they won’t shout with joy at the sight of fresh snow or beg me to push them on the sled one more time. So for now, I’ll embrace the marathon mornings and the sticky kitchens and the living room forts. I’ll embrace the magic of these fleeting moments, knowing that one day, I’ll look back and miss it all.

As I write this, the snow has started falling again, soft and steady. And though part of me groans at the thought, a bigger part of me smiles. Because winter, for all its challenges, is a short and fleeting season of wonder. Kind of like childhood.

So here’s to snow days: long, messy, magical, and fleeting. And here’s to the kids who make them unforgettable and to all the snow day parents. We wouldn’t trade them for anything. (Well, maybe for a nap.)

Kate Lewis resides in Leelanau County and serves as the director of communications for Traverse Area Recreation and Transportation (TART) Trails. You can typically find her biking on a trail, paddling on the water, hiking in the woods, exploring northern Michigan with her kids, or dancing at a Phish show.