SNOW DAY.

The alarm went off, and I smiled. The wind was still moaning against the window pane. This was a good sign.

I ripped off the covers and ran straight for the computer. Andrew was up right behind me, beelining for the radio in the kitchen.

No news yet.

I made my way back to bedroom, stopping several times to pull back the curtains and scrutinize the whirling snowfall. The wind seemed fierce enough to me. But you never can tell for sure.

I dressed slowly, despite knowing I would need more time to drive to work today. I was listening carefully to the newscasters in the other room.

Where was my phone? I quickly found it buried beneath the flannel sheets. Turning the volume up several notches, I slid it into my pocket and strolled off to brush my teeth.

Last night, I had viewed the accumulation with suspicion. In spite of an already prepared to-do list (just in case, you see), I couldn't allow for too much hope. This is Rexburg, Idaho, after all. Suddenly, I heard magical keywords floating in from the kitchen.

"...schools...."

"...closures..."

I skittered across the cold, wood floor in time to hear the morning DJ announce, "...after this song." Sliding to a stop, I forlornly turned and headed back toward the bathroom.

Meandering past wads of scattered Kleenex, I sighed deeply and ran my hands through my hair. Oh, how I need this! Homework, report cards, laundry...not to mention my sanity. I could imagine thousands of children and teachers, anxiously pacing their southeast Idaho homes. All going crazy with suspense.

Just then, the front door flew open, and Andrew stomped in covered with snow. He had been shoveling through the drifts across our driveway.

"We're the only house on the block with snow!"

I smiled at his exasperation. But mostly, I smiled at what was another very good sign.

After chugging a glass of water, he tromped back out, while I went to check the computer again for some news.

But then...there came, floating up from my pocket, the most joy-filled little jingle. I don't get calls at six in the morning unless...

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A combination of the wind, my hoarse sore throat, and Andrew bundled up to his eyeballs, I doubt he heard a word of my jubilation. But my quivering, happy dance on the front stoop left no room for question as to the news, I'm sure. The neighbor's double take at my celebration, from across the street, didn't even phase me.

Looking over the wind carved designs in our yard very nearly made me cry. It was going to be a glorious snow day.