I work three days a week, Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.  My office is right next door to my kids’ school making it convenient to drive the kids to school on those days.  I share the responsibilty of driving the kids to school with a friend of mine and we take turns driving our carpool.  After an incredibly busy week, I was grateful for the few inches of snow and school’s delayed opening.  I slept in for an extra hour and a half and woke up pleasantly relaxed.  I helped my kids get ready for school and ten minutes before it was time to go, my husband came downstairs and asked, “Who is taking the kids to school?”  Standing there in my Pjs, I realized that it was Friday, my day to drive.  Earlier in the week, I had seen the weather reports predicting snow.  Because I was concerned that I wouldn’t be able to get into work on Friday, I had decided to work on Thursday instead.  So suddenly, it was the mad rush to brush my teeth, splash my face and bed-head (yikers!) with water, throw on a pair of sweatpants, and jump into the car with six kids in tow.

What started out as a relaxing and calm morning started turning into one of annoyance and irritation.  “Boy, that was stupid!” was running through my head as we barrelled our way through the streets in my 15 passenger van.  But as I took a couple deep breaths and really started to look around me, my heart skipped a beat.  We were driving through a winter wonderland.  The snow was heavy and wet and stuck to everything.  As we drove past small forested areas, we were in awe of the beauty spread out before us.  I heard my nine year old exclaim, “It looks like Narnia!” and I wholeheartedly agreed.  It was magical and breathtaking all at once.  The snow transformed everything into whimsical and enchanting shapes and contours.  Even a favorite wooden statue of a large bear that stands by the road wore a quizzical and amusing expression due to the snow that lay stuck on its head and face.  Can it be that I heard laughter?  And that it was coming from me?


As soon as I got back home, I ran inside, grabbed my camera, and drove to the nearest wooded area to my house.  I said to myself, “I’ll be quick” since I had so much to do that day.  But as soon as I pulled out my camera, all time stopped.  That first click of the camera was like pressing the pause button.  Before I knew it, 45 minutes had passed, and my fingers were cold, but in my heart there was a calm and peace.  My day started out the way it was supposed to.  I just had to go where it was taking me.