Hand Warmers

It’s not the way I woke some thirty minutes before the 4:38 alarm clock.

It’s not how we got out of the house early only to get caught behind the three-plow brigade.

It’s not how the lines in the parking lot were buried in a layer of white.

It’s the hand warmers.

It’s the hand warmers inside my gloves.

It’s the hand warmers inside my gloves while I hold the stop sign.

It’s the hand warmers inside my gloves while I hold the stop sign before the bell rings and I slip them into the pockets of my jeans.

It’s the hand warmers inside my gloves while I hold the stop sign before the bell rings and I slip them into the pockets of my jeans where they stay warm while I bop into classrooms, confer with young writers, prepare for PD, and even drive home.

It’s the hand warmers inside my gloves while I hold the stop sign before the bell rings and I slip them into the pockets of my jeans where they stay warm while I bop into classrooms, confer with young writers, plan and prepare, and even drive home where I close your hands around them.

Still warm.

Hand warmers. Who knew!?!

This post was inspired by “March Snow Issues” at A Girl Named Luu.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.