A Cozy Snow Day ✨ Relaxing Sleep Story

[00:00:09] Good evening, Sleep Wave family. This is your host, Karissa. I'm so happy to have you here with us tonight. We have a super cozy story about a snow day. I can't wait to share it with you. Before we dive into storytime though, I wanted to express my heartfelt thanks for listening and especially for sharing the show with your loved ones.

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[00:03:58] Do you remember the joy of a snow day when you were a kid and you got a day off from school to play outside and build a snowman and maybe sled down a nearby hill with some friends? I used to wish for snow. I used to wish for snow as a kid growing up in Texas, and that wish was rarely granted. But when it was, I truly could not contain the joy.

[00:04:21] Now that I am an adult with my own child, I get to see the same joy and wonder reflected now in my son's eyes whenever we wake up to a world blanketed in white. Let's tap into that feeling as we enjoy a sleepy, unexpected snow day. One of those days when you wake up ready to head to work and pull back the curtains to see that it's a snow day. That signals that you can climb right back into bed again.

[00:04:59] Julie woke early and lay there in the dark, waiting for her alarm to go off. There was absolute silence outside. No wind rustled the trees. No rain drummed on the roof. No owl hooted into the darkness. She turned her head and looked at the clock. 5.30. Another half an hour to go until the alarm would sound. Just enough time to head downstairs and make some coffee.

[00:05:30] She slid out from under the covers, careful not to disturb them so the heat was trapped within, and reached for her dressing gown. Using the light of her phone, she went downstairs, bare feet feeling the soft carpet beneath them. In the kitchen, Julie lit the stove and put the kettle in place.

[00:05:53] Taking a mug from the cupboard and adding a few heaped spoonfuls of instant coffee. It would do. It was too early to negotiate with the fancy machine at the far end of the counter. The fridge revealed she was out of milk, and, sighing, she went over to the front door. Fingers crossed the milkman might have been already.

[00:06:19] She unbolted the door and, still half asleep, slowly opened it, eyes on the ground where the milk bottle would be. A sea of white greeted her, and she looked up, seeing the snow that lay in great drifts in the garden and the fields beyond.

[00:06:41] The boughs of trees, just discernible in the thin light of dawn, were heavy with snow, bending low to the ground with the extra weight. She turned on the outside lights, and an orange glow was thrown out in an arc. Paw prints made their way from one side of the garden to the other. A cat, perhaps? Or a fox?

[00:07:10] Julie wasn't sure. There was no milk bottle in place, and looking at the road buried beneath at least a foot of snow, there wasn't much chance of one appearing, either. As she stood watching, a slight chill reaching her bare toes, snow started to fall once more.

[00:07:33] The silence heavy, the bare stems of summer shrubs being buried deeper and deeper. Julie closed the door and returned to the kitchen, lifting the kettle from the stove and tipping the instant coffee back into its jar. She reached instead for the box of fruit teas, picking out lemon and ginger and adding that to the mug.

[00:08:02] Steam rose as a wispy cloud, disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. She wrapped her hands around the mug and carried it slowly upstairs, counting the steps aloud in the near darkness and heading back to her bedroom. The warmth was still in there, wrapped and trapped beneath layers of blankets,

[00:08:31] and she snuggled back down with her dressing gown still on, rubbing her feet together for a few moments. The alarm sounded, interrupting and insistent, and she turned it off with a smile. She was going nowhere today.

[00:08:55] The children of class 8B would slowly be waking up to the news that it was a snow day too. It was a fine line, she reckoned, whether they would be more excited than her. She remembered the snow days of her childhood, those precious extra days when she spent time building snowy ramps in the garden

[00:09:22] and flying over them with a sled, building a snowman with her big brother, and sneaking a carrot from the kitchen and coal from the scuttle for its nose and eyes. She remembered marshmallows floating in hot chocolate, and their mother letting them build a fortress of blankets and pillows in the living room,

[00:09:52] favorite movies on the television, and the luxury of a day spent in pajamas and slippers. The children of class 8B would all be doing those things today, whereas she and the rest of the teachers would have one thing on their mind, extra sleep. With that in mind,

[00:10:20] she took a final mouthful of her tea and wriggled further beneath the blankets, with just the tip of her nose and forehead poking out, Julie fell fast asleep. There was no need to wait for official confirmation from the school that it was closed. There was no way that road was clearing in the next hour,

[00:10:48] especially not with the snow still falling. Julie woke just before 11, having disappeared into one of those deep, indulgent sleeps that only appear once in a blue moon. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, and she went to the window,

[00:11:14] drawing them back to reveal a pale blue sky hovering above a land covered in white. She only knew where the road ran because the very tops of the stone walls poked out in the snow. Nobody had even tried to pass. She looked across the field to her closest neighbor,

[00:11:43] a 10-minute walk across meadows of wildflowers in the summer, and 15 minutes of slips sliding in mud come the autumn. The chimneys at either end of the cottage were puffing out smoke, and she could just make out the shapes of Charlie and Amy playing in the garden with Bilson,

[00:12:09] their huge, lolloping Newfoundland leaping through the snowdrifts. As she watched, the children's mother came to the door and called them inside, Bilson pausing to watch. She could imagine the look on the dog's face, the pleading eyes, and it seems that in the end he won because the front door closed

[00:12:39] and Bilson went back to bounding through the snow. A flash of tawny red caught her eye, and she watched a fox crossing the field, rising and disappearing as he took leaps to create his path. A sparrow joined two starlings at the bird table in her garden,

[00:13:06] pecking eagerly at the seeds and nuts she'd filled up just the day before. A large crow came and landed on a branch, cawing its arrival, snow shifting onto the ground in a silent tumble. Julie wasn't used to days without purpose.

[00:13:35] Everything in her life was usually so defined, so organized, and she stood at the window a while longer, hand pressed against the cold glass, wondering what to do with this unexpected day. In the kitchen, Julie waited for the toaster. She eyed up the neat row of jars,

[00:14:04] marmalades and jams competing for her attention. In the end, she selected cherry jam, the one she had brought back from France last year that deserved to finally be opened. The toast popped up cheerfully, and she buttered the slices generously, adding spoonfuls of the jam.

[00:14:32] She was about to take a bite, the toast hovering just before her, when she remembered something from way back when. A holiday a decade ago or more. She rummaged in a cupboard and found the cinnamon, sprinkling a little tentatively onto the jam on her toast. A quick bite,

[00:15:00] and Albania came rushing back, a holiday spent on powder white sand by turquoise seas. She closed her eyes and drifted into memories of deck chairs and floating on the sea, and sitting at a bar in the late afternoon with her friends, and was almost surprised when she opened her eyes

[00:15:30] to see the endless whites of the snow in front of her. Memories can do that when they become so real for a moment, we are temporarily removed from the world in which we stand. She finished the toast and placed the plate and knife in the sink. Later would do.

[00:15:59] Today was her day. Julie dressed in layer after layer, thick socks piling onto thin ones, squeezing her arms into her coat, and pulling a bobble hat onto her head. She took fresh supplies of seeds and nuts

[00:16:27] from the cupboard beneath the sink and wobbled out into the garden, stepping carefully through the snow as she headed to the bird table. The robin that was in residence stood patiently as she added everything to the little wire cages, chirping his thanks

[00:16:55] as she retreated back towards the porch. Julie walked around the house, lifting her legs high and placing each foot with care, trying to remember where the flower beds ended and the paths began. She walked over to the gate, kicking back snow

[00:17:25] so she could drag it open and headed out into the lane. She looked one way and then the other, the road stretching out before her in either direction, rising and falling as it found stone bridges and gentle dips.

[00:17:55] The forest in the distance stood out dark against the white. The shapes of the pines clearly etched against the paleness of the sky and landscape. For a moment, she considered walking there, and she took a few tentative steps, but walking in the snow was tiring

[00:18:24] and she soon gave up, heading home and pushing the gate shut behind her. She thought of the children in Class 8B, all dancing around in this world of white, and almost in their honor, she lay on her back in the snow and waved her arms and legs up

[00:18:54] and down, laughing as she created a perfect snow angel in her front garden. Then she lay still and looked up at the sky, watching as geese flew in a perfect V formation overhead. The gentle rise and fall of their wings heard on the ground

[00:19:23] far below. In the east, clouds gathered together, heavy with the promise of more snow. She pulled herself up and announced to nobody in particular that she was going to head back indoors, and off she went, abandoning her damp boots in the porch

[00:19:53] and closing the door firmly behind her. The immediate warmth of being inside quickly dissipated, and Julie soon found herself in the front room on her hands and knees, adding balled-up newspaper and piles of sticks to the wood burner. The fire caught quickly,

[00:20:21] flames licking greedily at the paper and dry wood, and soon she had added a log and closed the doors. Feeling the warmth pour out into the room and through the whole cottage, she added another log and went to run a bath, pouring in far more of the bubble bath

[00:20:50] than was strictly necessary, just so she could watch the mounds of bubbles rise and rise in the tub. Julie brought her laptop into the bathroom and balanced it on the closed toilet seat, loading up one of her favorite comedy shows, one of those that is decades old and so familiar

[00:21:20] you know the lines but love it anyway. She sank into the bubbles and turned her head to watch the screen, laughing and chuckling at the familiar, comforting jokes and exchanges. She reached towards her usual soap and then stopped herself, instead deciding to pick up

[00:21:49] the dusty packets and bottles her friends had given her as presents over the years and which she'd never been able to bring herself to use. This one promised softer skin, this one smoother skin, this one rejuvenated skin, this one fell just short of being the elixir of youth, so they all promised on their labels.

[00:22:19] Julie tried one after the other, the scents of jasmine and lavender and coconut becoming intermingled in a glorious tropical wave. Out of the bath, she reached automatically to the clothes left folded on her chair, waiting for the day and was halfway through pulling on the sensible, practical skirt

[00:22:48] when she realized this was a snow day. This was her day. She could wear whatever she wanted. And so, she went to her drawers and pulled out a fresh pair of soft brushed cotton pajamas patterned with roses, inwardly high-fiving herself as she realized she had, in a rare spurt

[00:23:17] of enthusiasm for such an unnecessary task, ironed them. With that in mind, she went over to the bed and pulled off the sheets and covers, replacing them with a fresh set, pillows placed as perfectly as if she were making up a hotel room. A final sweep of the hand to smooth out the last corner,

[00:23:46] and it was ready. A bed that would welcome her back later that day, and she would have that gorgeous luxury of sliding into clean sheets. It's always the little things, she said aloud, pleased with her efforts. Once more, buried inside her dressing gown and with her feet

[00:24:15] pushed deep into fluffy slippers, she went back downstairs just in time to put another log on the fire. She sat on the sofa, and thought about her next move. The television reflected the light of the fire and winked invitingly, and she almost reached for the remote before deciding that, no,

[00:24:45] this afternoon, it was time for a book. It was snowing once more, flakes rushing from the sky and adding to the mounds outside, and she ran her finger along the shelves, looking for a cozy, wintry read. Her fingers

[00:25:15] stopped on the perfect spine, and she slipped the book out from between the others, pleased to have found something she had been planning to read for ages, years if she bothered to think about it, but never found the time. Julie settled onto the sofa once more, drawing a blanket over her legs,

[00:25:45] and leaning back against the cushions. She opened the book, and for a while, she disappeared into the world of someone else's making, wrapped up in the life of a character named Mary, who lived on a remote Scottish island with only her dogs for company. Julie smiled when the James character appeared,

[00:26:14] a suitably rugged vet with dark hair and eyes the color of the sea after a storm. It was a story that had been written and read a thousand times, but the sort of story she loved to read some days. She left Mary and James in the middle of an argument,

[00:26:43] smiling ruefully to herself as she saw that, yes, it was about two-thirds of the way through the book. always two-thirds of the way through. They'd be together by the end, thanks to some artful decisions on the part of the author. There is comfort in familiarity. Julie headed back to the kitchen

[00:27:13] in search of food. She stood with the fridge door open, looking for inspiration, eventually deciding to dig into the freezer and go for one of her mother's Tupperware boxes. Her mother lived just 20 minutes away, in the heart of the village that technically gave Julie her postcode, but couldn't be seen from the

[00:27:42] cottage. Her mother was always dropping round with the excuse, Oh, I cooked too much again. Let me just slip it into your freezer. She was convinced Julie didn't look after herself properly and certainly didn't spend enough time cooking decent meals, and to be fair, she was right.

[00:28:12] Many evenings, Julie came back from work late and was grateful for the simplicity of those meals. A few turns in the microwave, a ping, and they were done. Lancashire hot pots or beef stew or dumplings in gravy, ready and waiting. She rooted through the options, eventually picking one with a picture

[00:28:41] of Holly on the label. That was her mother's code for leftovers from Christmas dinner. Turkey and gravy and stuffing and roast parsnips sounded perfect right now, and she watched as the tub turned around in the light of the microwave. She considered putting it onto a plate, feeling her mother's

[00:29:11] frown as instead she just put the tub, complete with dinner, on top of the plate instead. Less washing up, she told herself, heading back to the front room to put another log on the fire and settle down on the sofa. This time, she turned the television on, flicking past news broadcasts and weather

[00:29:40] reports and an old football game, since this evening's scheduled one was cancelled due to the snow that seemed to have carpeted the entire country. She arrived at a channel that was midway through showing Sleepless in Seattle and settled down for an hour with Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan, sharing their lives. It was a movie she'd seen a dozen

[00:30:10] times, but just as with the book she had been reading earlier, the old familiar favorites are sometimes the best. Every look the characters exchanged was one Julie knew was coming, but still loved to see, and she often sat with her fork hovering midway between Tub and her mouth, waiting for a particular moment to

[00:30:40] pass before she dared interrupt it with eating. She picked up her phone and messaged her mother to thank her for the meal, checking that her day had been a good one. Messages pinged back and forth for a few minutes, idle chatter and idle commentary, nothing of notes, but somehow everything of significance.

[00:31:10] then her mother announced it was time for her to play Scrabble with Julie's father, and Julie wished her luck, laughing at the I don't need luck response she received. They must have played the game every day for 50 years, Julie thought, and her mother won maybe once in a hundred games. Julie sometimes wondered if

[00:31:40] her mother let him win, just to see the gleam in his eye and hear how he proudly told Julie every time she came round to visit. A game within a game, she thought, all part of what makes life wonderful. The movie came to an end and Julie switched off the screen, dropping the Tupperware in the sink

[00:32:09] and filling it with water to stand overnight. Once more, she went to the front door and opened it, flicking on the outside light to see the circle of orange bright in the snow. Tomorrow was Saturday and, according to the glimpses of reports she'd seen as she flicked through the channels, by Monday the snow would all be gone.

[00:32:39] It was hard to imagine so much white disappearing, a damp world emerging once more from beneath its soft blanket. She looked up and saw a single star bright in the dark of the sky, and she thanked the heavens for the day they had given her, door. For the third and final time that day, Julie closed her front

[00:33:09] door. She flicked off the lights downstairs and headed up to her room, ready to dive into the bed with the clean sheets and hotel perfect placed pillows. Relishing each moment, she slowly untied the cord of her dressing gown, and hung it carefully on the back of the door.

[00:33:38] She closed the curtains and looked back to survey the room, the big bed covered in soft blankets, the lamp glowing softly at the side, the book with the rest of Mary and James' story waiting for her. She walked across to the bed and sat down, deliberately and carefully removing

[00:34:07] each slipper and placing them neatly at the side, ready for the morning. And then she wriggled her way into the clean sheets, pushing her feet up against where she had pulled them tight, turning her head this way and that on the pillows. Julie glanced at the book and decided against it. Tomorrow was Saturday,

[00:34:37] tomorrow was the weekend, tomorrow was another glorious day that she could make into hers. She reached an arm out from beneath the covers and turned off the light, bringing it back into the warmth of the blankets. and curling up around herself. She wondered when she would meet the man

[00:35:07] who she would play scrabble with almost every day, and she wondered if she would be the one letting him win or the other way around. She didn't often think about these things, but the book and the film and the peace of the day had let her mind drift. He was out there somewhere, she was sure of it,

[00:35:37] and she smiled as she nestled in her bed, relishing the space and freedom she had for now to do with what she wanted. it. She brought an image of James into her mind's eye, tall, handsome, with eyes the color of the sea after a storm, and hands that made

[00:36:07] her own look tiny in his. And she imagined strolling across the Scottish island with him, purple heather waving in the breeze, and the emerald seas against the whitest sands. A dog bounded into the picture, golden fur rising, and falling

[00:36:35] as he ran across the dunes, and then the three of them were running towards the sea, smiles never failing as they ran into the cold and splashed and dived. And then they were heading home to a cottage very much like the one she lived in now, and they were tangled together

[00:37:05] on the sofa. James and her and the dog, all wrapped up in blankets and hugs, leaning forwards to place letters on a board that shone with the light from the fire.