I should have felt rested on Wednesday following a long winter break. My district was merciful enough to grant us a day off the day before Christmas Eve, which is traditionally a half day. I had just had the luxury of eleven glorious days off, which was at least enough time to catch my breath. But when I woke up to find that I’d forgotten to set my alarm the night before, a wave of teacher-tired came flooding back to me.

Immediately when one oversleeps, in your mind you are already figuring out which parts of your morning routine you need to axe. I won’t make the bed today, I decided. No time to stretch. The dogs won’t get their walk. There was no time to see which students completed their online homework the night before. Coffee would need to be guzzled on the way to work.

As I fished through the sink looking for my Yeti coffee cup and the sponge, both of which were buried under a mound of dirty dishes, my brain immediately began to fill itself with the negativity that follows from skipping a morning routine. “Why is it that I’ve been back at work for two days, and already the entire house is falling apart?” I demanded as Doug stood by and waited out the clatter of the sink.

Doug knows not to try to communicate, reason or console while I’m having a tantrum. It was 7:51 a.m., I was late, and I had only nine more minutes before I was very late. So instead of his response, I heard the ding of a work email coming in.

It was from my school’s principal. The subject bar read: “Two-hour delay…more info to follow.”

I breathed. I leisurely finished my morning routine. And that day at school, five of my twenty-four students showed up. It was the easiest day at work I’d ever had.

The next day was Three Kings’ Day. Since it’s widely celebrated by the Hispanic population, my district takes it off while my own kids pile in to the Simsbury schools. Having the house to myself is a blessing, and it balances out the universe, since Simsbury takes off Rosh Hashanah.

Last night, more glad tidings popped into my inbox from my principal: “No school tomorrow, 1/7/2022”–sealing the deal on a four-day weekend after winter vacation. Not to mention, the best snow days are the ones you don’t have to set your alarm to find out about.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d say 2022 was going to be my year.

I think we’d all agree that there are some people who regularly see us at our very best. Then there are those who see us at our worst. And in most cases, it’s our neighbors.

Every night, I put on a long, brown coat, wrap my entire upper half in a scarf, throw on a hat, lace up my duck shoes, and strap a headlamp to my forehead. Then I grab two plastic bags and two leashes, slip them around the dogs and venture out for our midnight stroll. (Actually, it’s only around 6:00, but by then, a December evening in Connecticut looks like midnight.)

At night, we do the first half of our walk. In the morning, we’re back on the road for the rest of it.

On weekends, we wait until it’s light. On the bright side, the neighborhood seems friendlier when it’s light out. On the down side, everyone can see my dorky getup.

This morning, even though it was in full light of day, I strapped my headlamp on my forehead–because putting it on has become part of my muscle memory, and I forgot I wouldn’t need it. I was wearing two different socks–because I own a hundred pairs of fuzzy socks, and one of them always has a hole in it. It was 45 degrees and there really wasn’t a need for a hat, but I didn’t feel like combing my hair.

I bumped into Judy, who lives three houses down.

“Good morning!” she called. It looked like she’d never been more happy to see anyone in her entire life.

Judy has a modest beach house where she often enjoys her retirement with her husband of fifty years. She invites my family down for the summer, but we never seem to have the time. When you’re talking to her, you feel like you’re the most important person in the universe.

With a bag of poop dangling from my elbow, we chatted about the state of the world as her dogs and mine fought their leashes to get a sniff. She told me she believes it will get worse before it gets better. We talked about our families, and how my children somehow transformed into teenagers overnight. And at the end of our conversation, she said, “You look beautiful, as always.”

I looked down at my duck shoes, embarrassed, because I’d forgotten what I looked like. But something told me she wasn’t humoring me. Judy is one to look for beauty all her around her, and I knew she actually meant it.

“God will keep us,” she added, and then she took her dogs back inside.

Funny how much you can learn from a brief exchange…and how it can change the entire course of a dreary winter day.