Adulting

“The last time it snowed this much, it was Spring Break of my first year of teaching.”

“That was, what? 2003?”

“Yep.”

I don’t remember lifting a snow shovel. What I do remember was sitting in the overstuffed, secondhand leather chair. Under a blanket. With a book in hand.

I remember the book. I read it in a single sitting. In the leather chair. Under a blanket. While it snowed more than three feet outside.

All the while, Stanley sweated in the scorching sun, found refuge on God’s thumb, and found out who he truly was.

Holes. That was the book. That was the Spring Break of my first year of teaching. I read and rested.

We’d had our house a little more than a month, we’d be married in a little under a year. No dogs, no kid. No worries about shoveling a path.

I had my first real job, but I was not yet an adult. Today’s storm is proof.

This time, this storm came two days before Spring Break. Has dropped nearly two feet, and it’s still coming down. Which means two snow days.

The first, spent shoveling and shoveling and shoveling, broken up only by breakfast-making and crockpot cooking.

We’ve had our house for 21 years, been married a little less than that. We’ve replaced the chair. But today? No books, no rest, no comfy cushion on a corner of the couch.

Instead, I sweated under sweatshirts and snowpants, found refuge in a cup of coffee, and know who I truly am.

Yes, shoveling is the proof.

I am an adult.