This has been a long, cold, snowy winter.
When I was a kid, I remember snow sticking around most of the season.
Roads stayed packed, boots stayed wet, and winter felt… steady. Most of my adult winters have looked different—snow, then a random forty-degree day, everything melts and starts over. This year, the snow stayed. And oddly enough, it felt a little nostalgic.
That feeling carried into a recent conversation my mom and I had about how I spent winters growing up compared to how my daughter spends hers now.
Times really have changed.
I wasn’t a true latchkey kid, but childhood still felt… looser. On snowy days, I’d throw on my moon boots, layer up, grab my sled, and wander over to pick up a friend along the way. We’d all go to the biggest hill in the neighborhood—which, looking back, probably wasn’t that big at all. We built ramps. We sledded until our legs were tired and our gloves were soaked.
There were no cell phones. Our parents had a general idea of where we were, but not our exact location at all times. Somehow, they trusted that we’d come home when we were cold enough. Sometimes I’d stop at a friend’s house for hot chocolate and call home to ask if I could stay—only to hear the dreaded busy signal.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
I’d stay, warm up, and eventually head home.
Now, things look different.
We have a small hill on the side of our house. I help my daughter into her snow gear, zip every zipper, check for exposed skin. I keep an eye on the time. I check in often. I communicate with neighbor parents if there’s even a hint of movement toward another yard. Water breaks are required. Schedules loom. Homework and practices wait in the background.
She still has fun—and I know she’ll remember sledding down our very small incline with a smile someday. But I can’t help wondering if something has shifted.
Is there less freedom now?
Or just a different kind of care?
Should I trust her instincts more, the way our parents trusted ours?
I don’t have a neat answer here. Just a feeling.
Maybe some of what I’m remembering is childhood freedom. Maybe some of it is simply childhood—the luxury of not being the person thinking about schedules, safety, wet gloves, or what time everyone needs to be home.
My daughter will probably remember her tiny sledding hill differently than I do. Someday, maybe she’ll look back on these winters with the same kind of nostalgia I feel for mine.
Maybe that’s one of the strange things about getting older and raising a child. Watching her make childhood memories has a way of bringing back my own.
Her childhood doesn’t look exactly like mine did.
But someday, these will be the days she remembers.
I’d love to know—what are some of your favorite winter or childhood memories that feel completely different from childhood today?
If you enjoy these quiet reflections on motherhood, memory, and everyday moments, I’d love to have you here more often. You can subscribe below to receive occasional notes from me—nothing fancy, just thoughtful words for real life. 🤍
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