I love the snow and I absolutely love the Christmas season, so imagine my excitement when this morning at 5 a.m., I woke to snow.

My first instinct was to grab my son and to take him outside to experience the fresh, moist goodness, but I decided to take him to the door to see his reaction, which was quite bleak might I add. So after a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of soy hot chocolate, he was out of his typical morning moodiness and ready to play.

I loaded him up: two pairs of socks, two shirts, a fleece one piece and his puffer coat and hat. You see although I was raised here in Hazelwood, my son was born a Floridian, so this is his first exchange with snow.  We headed outside to watch his dad clear the driveway and the snow off the cars and my son, in all his 1-year old glory, stared at what used to be green grass. He slowly lifted his leg to step on it. He was okay with the texture between his feet so he bent down to touch it...one finger, two fingers, then his whole hand.

He appeared to enjoy snow and especially enjoyed the taste of it but then I ruined it. I balled up some snow and contemplated throwing it at him, but instead handed it to him. Bad idea. The temperature of the solid in his hand disturbed him so that he dropped it and headed for the front door.

So we sat in front of the Christmas tree and looked at the lights and every now and then he leaned to the side and peeped out at the snow. Although a brief initial encounter with snow, it was one memory I will cherish forever. We bonded over something that brought me so many fun times in my childhood.

I think next year he'll be older and will allow us to take him to the park to sled. I have quite a few fond memories of building snowmen at Howdershell Park and a sometimes I was able to convince my dad to take my brother and I to White Birch Park to sled.

Good Times!