Queen Kelley

Yesterday, we celebrated our sweet Ladybug’s 2nd birthday again. I say “again” because her big party took place last Saturday, complete with Thomas the Train decorations, an amazing train cake made by my friend Heather, and many of the people we love all under one roof. Yesterday was no less exciting, as we, the grandparents, and aunt watched big sister dance at the Cherry Blossom Festival (she did well!) and then enjoyed the frisbee dogs and a few rides at the park. Oh, and the cotton candy, which we devoured in a matter of minutes. Last night, we ordered BBQ and sang happy birthday once more over an angel food cake iced with Cool Whip and fresh strawberries. We figured we’d had enough of delectable buttercream icing and heavy cake for a while.

Front and center was the chubby, soft-skinned, blond-haired little girl who entered our lives two years ago. She fills our days with the sound of her singing—and her screaming. She entertains us with her cute sayings, like the time she glanced out the window at the sleeping dog and said, in that adorable tiny voice, “Poor Pippin. He’s so tired.” She loves us with hugs and kisses and slaps at us when she doesn’t get her way. She enjoys reading books together and playing in the sandbox. Swings thrill her and baths excite her. She wants so badly to do what Butterfly does, and yet is fiercely independent in the next moment. We love and treasure her deeply. Happy birthday, precious Ladybug!

Today I sent Ladybug to school with a cute shirt I bought at a recent consignment sale. Bright yellow, the shirt bears a large smiley-face applique complete with blond fuzzy hair and orange bows. “Lil’ Mischievous,” it declares. It suits Ladybug to a “T.”

Now I think I need to find a similar shirt for Butterfly. On our drive home from the preschool, she told me how hot she felt at school—both on the playground and in her classroom. This child’s internal thermostat mirrors her daddy’s completely.

“I was so hot sitting on the rug that I spit into my hands and wiped my face with them,” she said proudly.

“Butterfly, that’s gross! You shouldn’t do that,” I exclaimed.

“Well,” she replied, “it did help me feel cooler.”

Just call her “Lil’ Resourceful.”

Ask Butterfly what the world looks like on Christmas morning, and she’ll tell you it’s covered with snow. Her vision fits well with the dozens of Christmas stories we’ve enjoyed together that depict children playing in the snow—woolen hats, mittens, and all. We talked about snow angels and snowpeople and footprints in the snow. She imagined how snowflakes might feel as they fell on her skin. Along with Ladybug, we even duplicated a preschool art project and made several of our own snowpeople to decorate the kitchen wall. Of course, we got no snow on Christmas. It was even warm enough for short sleeves.

But finally, at long last, a cautious weather report hinted at the possibility of snow in our southern town. I scoffed at first and tried to convince my little girl that, even if snow fell, it wouldn’t stick. Even so, after a couple of teases, the snow fell in earnest Sunday afternoon. I immediately bundled up Butterfly and sent her out with her daddy to explore the fresh, new world. As soon as Ladybug woke up (with my subtle help), I put on her snow clothes (such that we have, seeing as we NEVER get snow) and hurried her out.

I found the King and Butterfly happily enjoying the snowfall. Butterfly leapt around in the bed of the old truck, scooping up handfuls of white fluffiness and tossing them at her daddy, while the King kept rubbing his hands together. Both were red-nosed and pink-cheeked. Ladybug was more hesitant to join the fun, but soon I followed her as she trekked across the front yard, amazed at the tracks the created.

Snowfall has its own special sound. It muffles the rest of the world in a magical way. Covering the mud from the previous day’s rains, decorating the tree branches with a white fur coat, smoothing out the pitted yard, it made our neighborhood look like a dream. Thrilled beyond expression that my girls finally got to see this wonder of nature, I encouraged them to soak it in—build a (albeit teeny) snowman! throw snowballs! make tracks! form a snow angel (though Daddy doesn’t want you to get wet)! taste the snow!

The girls gladly obliged, twirling in the falling flakes, hitting me with a few well-packed and not completely comfortable snowballs, constructing a mini snowperson (and promptly squashing it), stomping their shoeprints into the slush, and generally echoing my own glee with the unexpected delights of a southern snowfall.

Of course, we only got a couple of inches. Of course, the temperature never dipped below 30 that afternoon. Of course, hard ice later replaced the soft snow, then melted into an unpleasant mush. Of course, by Monday, little was left for play. Of course, they girls may not see snow again in these parts for several more years.

But none of that matters because, for one totally magical afternoon, they got to enjoy one of the greatest delights of nature. We all played in the snow, and we have more than 200 pictures and film clips to remind us that it really did happen.