She tilted the blinds just so and checked from her spot on the right-hand-side of the bed to see if she had a proper view.
Just a little more, she thought to herself as she twirled the adjustment rod and tilted them slightly upwards as her husband snored off and on. She was careful not to wake him.
After the hurried, frantic, rush of dinner where meatballs and marinara were stuffed into hungry little mouths (and not so little mouths of people about to turn FOURTEEN) that sat agape at the dinner table like a nestful of baby robins, the kids were finally, finally asleep on the eve of yet another day of not knowing if there would be school in the morning. The local news promised extreme weather, using words like THREAT, MASSIVE, and LOOMING to describe the snow storm that was coming.
Was it any wonder it was hard to get the kids to brush their teeth and calm down?
She covered herself up with flannel, her body still warm from the small glass of Bailey's that she had after the dishes were finally done, after the mail was sorted, after the dog was put to bed. She grabbed her book and stared out between the slats of the blinds, positioned just perfectly now, and watched as the snow fell lightly, then harder, then hardly at all in the glow of the streetlight over the rooftops of the houses one street over.
In the morning she would know if there would be a snow day. And so, she waited.
And she hoped that she wouldn't have to do it all over again tomorrow.