Magic snowflakes

IMG_9604It snowed ALL day.

I took one son to the doctor and left with a positive strep diagnosis.  As soon as we got home from the pharmacy, we got the call that school was closing early.  It was time to pick up my other son.

We loaded back up and drove to school in the beautiful snow.

I walked into the school to pick up my son.  As we were walking out, he broke out in a full run.  He danced in the snow.  He stuck out his tongue to catch snowflakes.

Then something spectacular happened.  

He noticed the intricate shapes of the snowflakes.  He was standing still in the middle of the street, holding his arm up to his face so he could see them as they landed.  He was captivated.

Once we got back in the car, he rolled down the window and stuck his arm out.  He wanted so badly to get a picture of the individual snowflakes he was seeing.  He was in awe.  I tried my best to capture the individual flakes, but they melted almost as soon as he brought his arm in the window.  So we got what we could and drove off.

We have a Friday tradition of getting snow cones in the afternoon.  Of course, the son who is well wanted his snow cone.  Being the boundaried parent that I am, I appeased.  I asked the gal in the window how many customers they’d had today.  She said I was #2.  Ha!  No doubt there are few who crave snow cones when it’s 23 degrees and snowing.

We did!

All my son could talk about on the drive home was getting out there to play.  When can I go mom?  When do my friends get home from school?  I want to play!

There’s something special about snow in Texas.  We don’t get to see it much so when it comes around, it’s always magical.   People flock to their front yards to make snowmen and have snowball fights.  We dig out laundry baskets, pool floats, or  cardboard boxes to use as makeshift sleds.  We find little hills.

We make memories.

When we finally got the word that the neighborhood boys were heading out, Noah sprang up to get dressed.  He needed my help with his boots, his shirt, his gloves, his hat and his googles.  He was almost dancing while he dressed.  All while the other boys where throwing snowballs at the front window in jest.

Then a very strange thing happened.  

When we opened the door, he just ran out.  There was no hug.  No kiss.  No, Goodbye Mom.  I love you.  I love you no matter what. You’re the best mom ever!

No sign language, I love you, held high.


I yelled, Have fun!  I love you!



As the snow fell, I felt so proud of him.  And I could feel my heart break at the very same time.  I just stood there, in the snow.  No coat.  No hat.  Watching him run off, carrying that snowboard, laughing with his friends.

What’s a mama to do when her little boy grows up and leaves with his buddies?

I walked back inside full of emotion.  


Then I was struck with the notion that I’ve been talking a lot about women supporting women.  I’m focused on building a new kind of community for female social entrepreneurs that allows us all to help each other to the front of the line.  To chose contentment and generosity over scarcity. To be relational instead of transactional.

All of these things applied in that moment.  (well, clearly not the women supporting women part)  They looked a little different, but the premise is the same.

On a small scale, it gave me a taste of what it feels like to support someone else, growing into their greatness, even if it hurts a little.   A little glimpse of what it looks like to help someone to the front of the line, to experience their moment to shine.  Believing that even better things will come if we give generously with no strings attached.  Letting go of my selfish desires.  Investing more in relationships than transactions.   Well wishes instead of bitterness.

All because of some magical Texas snowflakes.

I got a taste of my own medicine.

What about you?

I’d love to hear about a time you were able to help someone else to the front of the line.

What about a time you chose to feel content in giving instead of worrying about what you’d lose?

I don’t think I’ll ever forget the snow of 2015 and I hope I never forget what it taught me.

To more love,




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