The Reality of Snow Days with Kids (LOL)

The reality of snow days with kids

Over the last few weeks, most of the UK has been treated to a fairly significant dumping of snowfall, which under normal circumstances would have resulted in a snow day off school for all. In our heads, the prospect of a snow day is exciting – building snowmen, throwing snowballs, sledging at the park and capturing beautiful family shots of happy faces playing in the winter wonderland. However, we’re also old enough and somewhat wise enough to realise, that this often isn’t the reality. Far from our ideal expectations, here are the realities of snow days with kids.

Check the forecast and get excited at the prospect of the “heavy snow” that is expected between 8am and 3pm today. Reminisce of the days where we would wait for the school closures to be announced on our local radio and make sure we know the exact location of the girl’s winter clothing, wellies and of course the 30 year old sledge that is still going strong.
After asking Alexa once every 2 minutes whether its’ going to snow today (and getting frustrated when she says “it’s snowing now”- it’s not!), we finally get excited at the first flutters that materialise at approximately 8.17am. Dance around like Elf upon discovering Santa is coming, only for the snow to have completely ground to a halt by 8.32am. Stomp off to the sofa in a huff and drown your sorrows in a large packet of popcorn. Heavy snow my arse.
When the snow finally graces us with its presence, spend 10 minutes trying to wriggle your child’s fingers into a small yet perfectly formed pair of gloves, with that one stubborn bugger of a finger refusing to budge from its location where it stays happily wedged up tight against another. Try and remain calm whilst shouting “SPREAD YOUR FINGERS – SPREAD THEM!!!!!”, before eventually giving up and letting your child head outside with the odd empty glove finger pointing outwards in random directions like Edward Scizzorhands.
Attempt to make a snowman with the children, before realising that this is THE WRONG KIND OF SNOW. It’s too fluffy, too icy, too muddy or quite frankly just too SNOWY. Aimlessly roll a small ball around the lawn that breaks apart every 3 minutes before admitting defeat and suggesting they have a snowball fight instead.
Start the snowball fights of all snowball fights resulting in lots of laughter and giggles until your 7 years old’s scarily accurate right hook aim clocks you square in the jaw. Wiping gritty yellow snow from your eyeballs and trying to hide your jib face; suggest to the children that snow angels may be more appropriate instead.
Watching in horror as your child pulls off the glove you just spent 20 bloody minutes lovingly navigating on to their tiny little fingers because they’re complaining that the snow (the wrong kind of snow of course) is sticking it. Count the seconds before the inevitable “MY HANDS ARE COLD” whinge emits from their frost-bitten mouth.
Attempt to get some beautiful shots with the camera of your happy children in the snow, snapping the shutter just at the moment when your child falls over, get hit by a wayward snowball or struggles to climb up a step because their snowsuit represents the Michelin man and they can no longer bend their legs at the knee. Instead, end up with a camera roll full of red nosed, whinging faces who look like they’d rather be anywhere else than outside.
Approximately 13 minutes into your snowy adventure, decide that that is plenty enough for one day, trudging back in to the warmth of your 3 bed semi. Shake off wellies by the back door and line up hats, scarves and gloves on the nearest radiator before leaving the remnants of an Olaf shaped puddle on your kitchen floor.
In the urgency of removing the 23 Joey like layers your wearing before your body hyperventilates you forget that the puddle is there, standing in it and resulting in a soaking wet sock.
End up with a washing machine full of socks, individual gloves and layers that have been worn for less than a quarter of an hour and yet are still absolutely filthy. Happy days.