It was the perfect kind of snow day, where it looks beautiful upon awaking, and by afternoon is already half melted.

I’m not big on snow. At all. When I moved to L.A. everyone told me I would miss winter and the changing of seasons. To which I would say, oh hell to the no I won’t.

And I didn’t. Not once did I wake up in the middle of 75 degree weather, or as I was bronzing at the pool in the dead of January and think, if only I had some snow right now.

It’s sufficient to say I could very well go the rest of my life without seeing nor experiencing snow and be perfectly happy with that. Should I actually, for some unheard of reason, miss snow, all I’d have to do is close my eyes and remember the blizzards of Virginia.

That would be more than enough to bring me back to sanity.

As Murph and I were pounding the pavement and taking on the ‘hood this afternoon, I was lured by the sounds of children shrieking and laughing. Snow play.

Ah, yes. A tender spot in my heart for the childhood afternoons the Brothers and I would spend {what felt like at the time} hours outside sledding and building snow forts.

I couldn’t help but turn down the street. And was promptly hit with a snowball. My initial reaction was one of  annoyance mixed with disbelief.

Did this little munchkin just really hit me with a GD snowball? That little shit.

Totally should not have thought the latter but that’s the price one pays of keepin’ it real. Plus I’m counting on you all to know I didn’t really mean it. I love almost all children. Fine. All.

But look, we are all fooling ourselves if we think children, at some point, are not going to annoy the hell out of us. They will and they do — fact. I cringe at the mere thought of how annoying I must have been … back in the day … who, me? Be annoying now? Impossible.

When I looked into the face of this seven year old {confirmed, because he felt so guilty he rattled of all important personal info, including his teacher’s name}, I instantly knew he didn’t mean it.

He was shocked and afraid. Waiting for my reaction. Waiting for the blowup. He looked at me and with a shaking voice said, I didn’t mean to do it. I really didn’t. Please don’t tell my mom. Pleeeease.

I remembered that same feeling of desperation, of not meaning to do something but being so terrified I was going to get busted for it anyway, knowing my parents would never understand my side of the story.

That always felt horribly unfair.

I suddenly saw the absurdity of the whole situation and just how funny it was. I tried to picture myself as an outsider watching, as the snowball hit me and the thought had me laughing uncontrollably.

This boy didn’t know what to think about my laughter, I saw it made him that much more uneasy. I assured him I most certainly would not be telling his mother and that I believed him. I knew he didn’t mean to hit me, but I was very glad he did.

As his eyes widened in confusion, I told him that sometimes, hitting random people with snowballs is important and that you never know when something you do ends up being very helpful to another, even if it doesn’t seem so at the time.

I thought maybe he didn’t get it, maybe I went a little over his head but when his eyes looked at mine with amusement, I knew he understood.

This was one of the best walks I’ve had with Murph. Nothing like a child to render you present.

I spent the rest of the walk amazed at the beauty of the snow covered branches and the sparkling whiteness around me. Thankful this is our ‘hood and place to call home.