"Mom, they didn't work," she said as she glanced down at the embroidered snowman on her blue jammie shirt.
You see, our area of the Pacific Northwest was buzzing with rumors yesterday.
Rumors of the white, falling from the sky, school might close and we'll get to wear all of our snow pants and new snow boots type.
When we put the kids to bed, it was cold enough to snow but all that was falling from the black frigid night was giant wet raindrops. Is it any wonder?
Regardless of our typical weather patterns in this area (they should be used to RAIN in November and December by now!), they all went to bed with visions of waking up to a white wonderland and having a day off of "work" (school). And I even bought into their excitement and anticipation.
For there is nothing like the feeling of those first snowflakes (the real snowflakes, not the kind mixed in with the thick rain). Nothing. The way they start falling, especially at night, in the glow of the streetlight, slowly building in number until all you see is a white, dancing, swirling mass of them. They way they finally start sticking to the streets below, a dusting at first, but after a few hours, a complete covering. The feeling of being warm, inside your home, while the quiet world outside is muted under the snow's blanket.
Unfortunately there aren't a pair of jammies that could possibly control the weather.
But if there are, I'm confident that my daughter will find them, and put them on and climb into her bed with strong thoughts that her magic jammies are going to work . . . this time. For that is the gift of childhood, the power to believe that a simple piece of fabric will change the world. And for that, I thank her.