"It looks like Christmas!"

It was a snowy morning, made for playing

I’m so happy to see you! How to Build a Life is a newsletter by me, bestselling author of 12 (!!) books Laura Jane Williams, going out to thousands of readers bang in the thick of life’s mess and mayhem… who are still trying to find the magic. I really love writing to you here. Hi.

The night before we’d taken a walk in the dark, wet would-if-it-could droplets of not-quite snow whirling like dervishes under the street lamps, the promise of hot chocolate with mini marshmallows on our return.

‘I like a midnight adventure,’ my kid said, clamping onto my hand, nose already turning pink, eyes burning with excitement because it was late, it was quiet, it was an unusual thing for us to do, heading out just because.

‘If it’s still snowing tomorrow, can we have a snowball fight?’ he asked, full of hope, and I could have just said yes darling, of course, but also, I knew there wouldn’t be snow tomorrow. He may as well know that too.

‘I don’t think it’s going to settle,’ I said. ‘If it does, yes, absolutely. But look,’ I pointed to the pavements. ‘It’s not really staying white and fluffy on the ground, is it?’

‘Hmmmm,’ my kid said. ‘I think it will, though. I think in the night it will all go white and so we’ll be able to play in the morning.’

I admired his positivity.

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The next morning we awoke in the dark to an outside world glowing from thick fresh snow.

‘I knew it would!’ my kid marvelled, face lit up by this unexpected winter wonderland. ‘Can I play out after school?’

‘You can,’ I told him. ‘If it’s still there. As long as it hasn’t melted.’

‘It won’t melt,’ he said, hopeful as ever. ‘I’m definitely going to play in it.’

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We brushed our teeth and washed our faces and tucked our vests into our pants for extra warmth. We made our beds and opened the curtains and headed downstairs for breakfast. I checked my phone, which lives downstairs, before I started pouring cereal, making a cup of tea. I had an alert from the school.

Please note, school will not be open for breakfast club, it said. School will be open 10am today, and children are expected to attend.

‘Can we play in the snow now then?’ my kid asked. I looked outside, then at his adorable, expectant face, then back to the outside.

‘Sod it,’ I said, sick of being sensible and realistic. ‘Come on then.’

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The sun wasn’t fully up, and it felt like we were the only two people in the world. We wore our hats and our scarves and our mittens and boots, and the snow crunched underfoot so satisfyingly that it was obscene to talk. We simply put one foot in front of the other, crunch, crunch, crunch, and when we reached the fields my kid pointed at the vast white hills, the smoking chimneys from houses in the distance, the trees bare of leaves but adorned in snow, and said, awe-struck, ‘It looks like Christmas!’

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We were out there an hour. We threw snowballs and then pretended to have had enough so that the other person would think they were safe but: surprise attack! We were kidding, we hadn’t really had enough, we were just doing a trick. We made figure of eights and snow angels and followed the tracks of what we thought was a dog, but then we realised there were no tracks from an owner and so actually, maybe it was the footprints of a fox, or even a deer. My kid said, ‘I love playing in the snow with you mummy. Can we come down here every time it snows?’

And this time, instead of saying maybe, or let’s see, or I’m not sure it will snow again any time soon, I said, ‘I would love that darling. Yes. Let’s always have some fun when we can.’

And I meant it. Let’s always have some fun when we can. In fact, let’s grab it with both hands, whenever the opportunity comes, unexpected, to be together, laughing, to be surprised and to stand in awe at something every day made beautiful, simply because we took the time to notice.