Snow Day!

     You look out the window, and through the glow of the porchlight you notice a "wintery mix" falling.  You yell to whomever will listen, "It's snowing!"  Magic words in a house with school age children, or, . . . a teacher.  Kids drop their game controls, adults put down their iPads, and everyone races to a window to "ooh and aah" over the mixed precip.
    "Aww," one wise-guy complains, "It's not stickin' to the roads.  We'll have school." 
    "Look how shiny the steps are.  I think it's ice," replies the eternal optimist.
    "Davidson county has already posted a two-hour delay for tomorrow," announces the family weatherman, glued to the TV and Doppler radar.
    "A two hour delay," everyone whines in unison, "What's the point in that!"
    Sad and dejected everyone returns to their electronic devices.  The kids text message their friends.
    "What's it doing at your house?"
    "Jack's deck has a dusting," reports one.
    "Lindsay says it's coming down hard at her house."
    "Erik lives on Concord Road, and he says cars are fishtailing on the hill in front of his house."
    Suddenly we're all high-fiving.  Fishtailing, that's what we like to hear.
    Mom's on facebook, and her teacher colleagues have come to life.
    "Do you think we'll have school?"
    "Big flakes at my house.  WooHoo!"
    "Joe just set the trash out.  He said the driveway is getting slippery."
    "Joe's driveway is slippery," Mom reports.  Round 2 of high-fives.
    The mood has definitely lifted at our house.  Suddenly, the house phone rings.  Everyone freezes.  Could this be the call? 
    Mom lifts the receiver.  "Hello, Mom."
    "Grandmaaaaaaa!"  We moan. 
    "Tell her you can't talk," we mouth while gesturing for her to hang up.
    "Yes . . . Uh-huh . . . Really . . . OK . . . Uh-huh . . . Alright . . . Well, . . . I'll talk to you tomorrow . . . Goodnight . . .What? . . . Yes . . .Uh-huh . . . Really? . . . OK then . . .Goodnight."
    "Did the phone beep while you were talking?  Was anyone else trying to call?"
    Another trip to the window reveals larger flakes falling, and . . . the road is covered.  We turn to see little brother with his pajamas buttoned crooked and his pants on backwards.  He's wiggling and gyrating as though he just sat in an ant hill.
    "What's up with that?" we ask.
    "It's the snow dance," he replies. "I learnded it at school."
    Soon we're all dancing, and laughing, and hoping, and suddenly, the phone rings again.  And this time I answer it, and it's just what I wanted to hear.  I'm nodding and I'm grinning . . . 'cause tomorrow is a SNOWDAY!