Night Sledding, Hot Chocolate, and C.S. Lewis

The snow flew in a nearly horizontal direction as it fell heavily from the sky. The snowflakes were not big and fluffy. They were tiny, round snow flakes that stung the faces of the children as they braved the elements. The family of five were out in the snow, sledding. The chores were done, and it had been dark for an hour or two. The children liked night sledding because it made it just that much more exciting. On clearer nights, the bright moon overhead illuminated the night sky and reflected off of the snowy ground creating a surprisingly bright atmosphere for sledding. On nights like that, the children would often venture beyond the driveway and down into the lower pasture. There was a steep hill that provided enough momentum for the kids to occasionally ride their sleds all the way to the crick on the other end of the field. This was not one of those nights.

They kept their night sledding confined primarily to the hill in between the house and the faded red bank barn. One single light fixture mounted high on a utility pole illuminated the hill sufficiently for the children to avoid any unforeseen mishaps. However, the piercing darkness around them pushed in on their sledding area providing just enough uncertainty to keep the children guessing. The sleds seemed to move faster in the dark. The lack of visibility caused adrenalin to pump through the veins of the riders as they flew down the short hill and across the frozen driveway. The sleds stopped as they plowed into the snowy windrow on the other side. As the children played, the weather became more and more extreme. 

The pole light suddenly began to flash on and off at regular intervals. All five kids looked towards the light and grabbed their respective sleds. They ran towards the house and leaned their sleds against the north exterior wall before entering the basement through the outside entrance. They deposited their outer layers on their respective hooks and ran up the stairs towards the kitchen. 

They were greeted by a smell that they all recognized as their mother's homemade hot chocolate. Cries of yes! and all right! rang out as the children all took their seats at the table. Even though it wasn't dinner time, the children sat at their regular places purely out of habit. They waited with great anticipation as their mother ladled the hot chocolate from the large silver stock pot into five mismatched mugs. She placed a mug in front of each excited child and put a plate of freshly baked snicker doodles in the center of the table.

“Be careful, kids,” Christa warned. “It's hot. Don't burn your mouths.”

The children approached their respective mugs with equal parts anticipation and apprehension. Caleb, being the oldest, reached for his mug first, firmly grasping the handle with his right hand and testing the side of the mug with his left. He leaned forward and hesitantly placed his lips on the edge of the mug. He slowly tilted the mug towards him and allowed the surface of the steaming liquid to touch his top lip. He gasped slightly as he pulled away. He licked his lip as if running a cost/benefit analysis in his head before trying for another sip.

“It's okay, guys,” he declared as he smacked his lips in satisfaction. “It's really tasty, to.”

The other four children reached for their mugs and began to slowly partake of the steaming elixir. Christa poured herself a cup and leaned against the counter, facing the kitchen table. She sipped from her mug as she watched her children do the same. The youngest two had platinum blond hair that looked all the brighter against their rosy cheeks. The older three also had blond hair, but their blond was darker. Some people referred to that hair color as dirty blond, but Christa preferred to say sandy blond. Her children were all too often dirty enough without the excuse of hair color to use to their advantage. She glanced at the stove clock which read 8:00 and addressed the brood before her.

“As soon as you guys finish your hot chocolate, you should go get your jammies on,” she directed. “Your dad said that he would read The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe when he got done feeding the cows if you were all ready for bed.”

The children looked up from their nearly empty mugs with joy and excitement written across their faces as clearly as the words on a page from their father's book. They simultaneously picked up their mugs and slurped the remaining beverage before running upstairs to change. They reappeared a few minutes later, each wearing a two piece pajama set that had been hand made by their grandmother. They each grabbed a throw pillow off of the couch and gathered around their fathers dark blue swivel chair. They chatted amongst themselves until they heard the back porch door slammed open by the wind. The farmhouse was about fifteen feet from a small summer house that doubled as Dale's office. The wind tunnel created by the positioning of the two buildings was enough to cause even Dale to loose control of the storm door from time to time.

It took the head of the household a few moments to get settled into his swivel chair, but the time seemed so much longer to the children. Dale propped his feet up on an improvised ottoman and took a sip from a small, blue plastic cup. 

“So,” he said with mock confusion. “What are you guys doing here? Is there something you need from me?”

The kids looked from one to another in confusion and disappointment. 

“Mom said you were going to read to us tonight,” Caleb ventured on behalf of his younger siblings.

“Oh really?” his father questioned. “Well, the only reason that she would say such a thing as that is because I am going to read to you kids tonight.”

A collective sigh of relief sounded out from the group on the floor as Dale reached for a small, paperback volume of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. A folder that held several eight and a half by eleven inch pages was tucked in between the pages of the book. He opened the book and the folder and pulled a piece of paper out of the folder. He handed the paper to Caleb and began to read. The children all pressed in to look at the page in their oldest brother's hands. It was an illustration that had been copied out of the book, enlarged, and carefully colored with colored pencils. There was a page just like this one for every chapter in the book.

After a few paragraphs, the kids all settled into their listening positions as Caleb handed the page back to the reader. They listened intently to the story even though they had all heard it before. There was something really special to the children about listening to their father's calm, tenor voice read the magical words of C. S. Lewis. The story held everyone's attention, not only because it was a great story, but also because their father was a good story teller, and the children didn't get to see that side of their father very often. When they did, they cherished the moment.

Dale read for about thirty minutes until he glanced at the clock on the wall by the kitchen doorway. He finished out the chapter and closed the book.

“Okay, kids,” he addressed his children as he placed the book back in it's spot. “It's time for you all to go to bed.”

The children didn't argue. In fact, it could be said that they agreed with their father, though not with their words as much as their yawns. They each picked up their pillows and returned them to the couch. They walked over to their mother, who had been listening to the story from her spot on the sofa. She leaned forward and kissed each child good night and received five kisses on her cheek in return. Dale and Christa smiled at each other as they watched their children disappear one by one up the stairs until the door closed behind them.