The boys ran to the sliding glass door, Sam in his pajamas, Tyler in a t-shirt and Lego underpants. They parted the Venetian blinds and exclaimed in unison “It’s snowing!” With a reluctance tempered by the joy their excitement gave, I got up and opened the blinds properly, letting the gray morning light into the room. It was indeed snowing, a sticky, slow, lazy snow that hung unto bushes and light posts more than laid on the ground. “I want to go out and play in it,” Tyler said, hoping one of us would pick up his suggestion. It fell flat, as both his dad and I looked at the time, then each other, and said as a unit “Maybe later.”