It’s blustery. It’s cold. There’s a struggle to zip up playground-stained mittens over synthetic down jacket sleeves. Our daughter, 5, accepts the lovingly crocheted scarf that I’ve wrapped around her neck. I look at her, satisfied with her bundled body, and proudly watch as she sets off, walking up the hill towards her school with her dad. She will be protected and warm, I think to myself. My pride sinks slightly as I watch her grab the scarf and tuck it under her chin, exposing her sweet cheeks to the frosty air.
It’s bright. It’s warm. The sun streams through the window, highlighting the living room furniture. My family bounds with natural energy. Our daughter, 6, comes down the stairs arrayed in patterns. Floral pants, a graphic t-shirt, and a speckled sweater clash in a medley of colours and fabrics. Confidence beams through her eyes, and I smile affectionately when she caps off her outfit by stretching mismatched Monsters Inc. socks over her pant cuffs. She insists that she won’t need a jacket, but I make her bring one in her backpack just in case— after all, Alberta is known for its unpredictable climate.
It’s sopping. It’s wet. The rubber boots are too small. A self-proclaimed water-resistant pair of yellow combat boots is the only option. Our daughter, 7, zips them up and ties the aesthetic-only laces, excited to be wearing them. Internally, I worry that she’ll catch severe illness if her toes get wet and remain so for the duration of the school day. I throw an extra pair of socks in her backpack. She hears my instruction to put them on if her socks get wet. I’m sure she forgets her affirmation upon reaching the sidewalk.
A rainy walk to school.
A man and his young daughter walk up a rain-soaked sidewalk. The man is wearing all black and looking down affectionately at his daughter. The daughter is holding a speckled umbrella above her head.
When we bought our house at the bottom of the hill, one of the highlights was its proximity to the local elementary school. From the date of purchase, I envisioned uphill walks filled with dreams for the day ahead and downhill returns replete with tales of recess and the classroom.
We are three years into my daughter’s elementary years, and our reality is not far-off from these visions. For the most part, my husband walks our daughter up to the school before walking to work, and I get the privilege of walking her home.
Our walks are filled with learned moments for all of us. The trudge up the hill has been enlightening as we speak the wisdom of physical exercise and mental perseverance to our tired children. Admittedly, walking up a snowy hill in snow pants and boots really descries the concept of “an uphill battle.” Although she sometimes complains about the walk, I am thankful she gets to learn these difficult lessons gently. Walks down the hill are my time to learn as I listen to what fun and affliction look like to her generation.
When I pick her up on the snowy days, she is dressed in much less fabric than when I sent her out the door. Her mittens are lodged in her backpack, buried by her scarf and often her snow pants. Minus 20 degrees Celsius hits kids differently than it does us adults. On our walk home, if I suggest she put on her winter accessories on our walk home, she will insist that she’s “boiling.”
On warmer days, I watch her burst out of the school doors, beaming like the rays of the sun. Often, she is just in a t-shirt, even if the temperature would support wearing a sweater. If she does exit the school in a sweater, it is bound to end up draped on my arm on our walk down the hill.
When an umbrella is warranted, I arrive at the school to find her splashing in the puddles and her backpack sitting in one. Are her socks wet? Yes. Have they been wet all day? “Mostly,” she responds humorously and then continues to skip joyfully down the soggy sidewalk.
Our family candidly enjoying a walk by our local river.
A family of four way away from the camera. From the left there is a man, a young girl, a younger boy, and a woman. All face away except for the young girl who is looking delightfully at her younger brother. It is a beautiful day with a blue sky and green grass.
It is not lost on me how fortunate I am to work from home and spend these precious moments with my daughter (and son, since he’s three years younger and often in tow). I have had the privilege of watching her grow from running ecstatically to me at pick-up to dropping her backpack at my feet and racing off to join her friends in the schoolyard. She tucks her socks under her pant cuffs now, and I would be lying if I said that I didn’t mourn it a bit. I take solace in that she still often chooses unconventional outfit pairings. I am safe from the loss of this innocence for a while.
Each year, her personality changes like the weather. There is no predicting who she will be as time meanders on. What I do know is that I’ll be proudly watching as she grows and adapts to what each season brings. Of course, I’ll have many suggestions for her, but I know she’ll find her own path. All I can hope is that she welcomes me and her dad on the walks with her up and down the hill for many more years. And with each passing season, I will hold close to my heart the memories of releasing her in the mornings and excitedly reuniting in the afternoons. Each walk will be a walk to remember.
Stephanie Morris is a transcriptionist and writer based in Alberta, Canada. She is a wife, a mom of two, and a newcomer to the career-writing world. As a fancier of history and literature, she aspires to blend the two in fiction and nonfiction pieces. To follow Stephanie’s writing adventures, find her at @words.and.smores on Instagram.
