Column: Just Add Water

It's hard to believe that just three weeks ago we watched a groundhog stroll out of his home. As most of America watched Punxsutawney Phil admire his shadow on the ground, Mother Nature booked an extended stay for Old Man Winter.

Preparations for low temperatures continued at our house. We gathered more wood for the fire. We stocked up on sleds, snowpants and a few extra boxes of hot cocoa. I would even be willing to bet that a few local residents contemplated investing in the electric company. I know I've thought about it.

With bated breath, I prepared to flip my calendar page over to March. It was then that I wondered when the white stuff would end and the green stuff would begin popping out of the ground.

Taking a sneak peek at the upcoming weeks, I noticed March 20 marked as the first day of spring. That little peek was all I needed to jumpstart nightly dreams of bright red tulips, yellow daffodils and fluffy white ornamental pears.

At 6 a.m., I routinely arise so I can check for school closings. I patiently wait for the "Fs" to go floating across the top of my television screen ... Floyd, Grayson County ...

Franklin County is open, which means I can wake my kids for a full day (fingers crossed) of school.

A few weeks ago, while my kids were home playing "Hanek Town" to avoid boredom, I found a letter from my 12-year-old daughter's school principal in the mailbox. I immediately tore open the envelope.

As I stared at the contents of the yellow envelope, a feeling of hope rose in my throat. It was hope that my child's brain would not remain stagnant any longer, and hope that the fulfillment of knowledge always will prevail -- despite the low temps and record-breaking snow totals.

I immediately strolled into the house and interrupted my daughter's second hour of television to announce that she had ... homework.

Now, many middle school-aged kids attending Franklin County public schools will remind me that this really wasn't "homework." It was just "extra" work. The letter from my daughter's school stated that any child willing to put his or her nose to the grindstone would be rewarded.

There would be extra points given by individual teachers, and each child that completed his or her work would get their name put into a hat. One name would be chosen and the principal would pay the winner $50 from her own pocket.

Soon, my daughter received a "chain" text message from a classmate encouraging her not to do the extra work. Despite this text, intended for my daughter to pass along to another classmate, she still put said nose to said grindstone.

And as much as I would like to say she finished all of the work, she didn't.

I was a little disappointed.

When I asked my daughter why she hadn't finished all of it, she informed me that she had to save some of her energy for the "real" homework she would receive when school resumed.

A few days later, Franklin County buses began running again and the expected "real" homework ensued.

As spring break approaches, the bounty of snow days soon will become a distant memory. I'm sure though, no matter what time of the year, I will always remember the time our mail carrier delivered this lifeline from my daughter's school -- a reminder that big things can come in small packages.