Three kids, a four foot hill and a cup of coffee: what the first snow taught me about stopping long enough to notice.
If you're a parent, you know how most weekend mornings go. Somebody's hungry before you're fully awake, somebody can't find the other sock, and you're already planning the day in your head before the coffee's done. Most mornings I'm moving too fast to see much of it.
One Sunday earlier this month went differently, and I didn't plan any of it. The kids did.
The first snow
I was up early with the kids, about to make breakfast, when my oldest opened the curtains. It had snowed overnight. She squealed, and both of her brothers came running to the window, completely overjoyed.
It was maybe a centimetre. The kind of snow that's sure to be gone by noon. Our winter gear wasn't even out yet. None of that slowed my daughter down for a second. She told her brothers to get dressed and asked if she could get the sleds from the garage.
They had a mission, and they were determined. What came next was an odd assortment of outdoor gear, the sleds, and three kids heading off to the little hill in the field behind our house. It's about four feet tall. To them it might as well have been the Rocky Mountains.
Emily woke up with the baby. I made coffee. And the two of us watched from inside as three kids giggled their way down a four foot slope, up before most of the town and surely the first people tobogganing for the year.
What I saw from the window
Who knows if they'll remember it. A centimetre of snow on a Sunday in October isn't the kind of day anyone writes down.
But I couldn't help thanking God for how lucky I was to be standing there. A cup of coffee in my hand, my wife beside me holding our newest, and three members of the Little Rascals out on the hill.
It's easy as a dad to put most of your energy into the big moments. The trip, the birthday, the tradition you want to start, the talk you want to have with them one day. Those matter. But that morning didn't need anything from me. I didn't plan it, and I didn't even help carry the sleds. My only job was to notice it.
And I almost didn't. If I'd been a little more focused on breakfast, or on my phone, or on the list for the week, I'd have heard some noise from the field and kept going. The moment would have happened anyway. I just wouldn't have been there for it. For a guy who builds a lot of his life around goals and plans, that's humbling. One of the best parts of my week needed none of my planning.
The kids taught me something else too. They didn't wait for better snow. A centimetre was enough for them. They saw what was there, decided it was worth getting dressed for, and enjoyed every bit of it before it melted. I could stand to be more like that, and not only about snow.
I think a lot of gratitude starts with noticing. The coffee, the window, Emily and the baby, the giggling from the field. All of it was already there. I happened to be standing still long enough to see it, and once I saw it, thanks came pretty easily.
There's a verse that fits that morning well:
"This is the day that the LORD has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it." Psalm 118:24 (ESV)
That covers ordinary Sundays with a centimetre of snow too.
Try this week
Catch one small moment with your kids and stay for the whole thing. Pick something ordinary you'd usually walk past, the kids building something on the living room floor, a game in the backyard, a song in the car, and stop. Watch it start to finish.
Then give thanks for it. To God, to your spouse, or to your kids themselves at bedtime. "I loved watching you on the hill this morning" takes five seconds and tells a kid you were paying attention.
A few ways to catch one:
- When your kids get excited about something tiny, let it happen, even if it's a little inconvenient. Breakfast can wait ten minutes.
- Pick one routine this week (breakfast, the drive, bedtime) and leave the phone in another room for it. See what you notice.
- At bedtime, tell each kid one thing you saw them enjoy that day.
Your kids are going to find a hill somewhere this winter, however small. You don't have to organize it or improve it. Just make sure you get a few minutes at the window.
When's the last time your kids turned something tiny into an adventure? Were you there to see it?
