It's a blustery day in the neighborhood

The days the phone would ring before 6:30 a.m. were always the best.

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, shivering in my Disney Princess pajamas, I'd creep from my cozy twin bed to the kitchen, the master domain of my parentsprior to my awakening every morning before school. If Dad was home thestakes were higher. If he had left and not returned, it meant a few hoursspent in my plaid uniform were likely on the menu.

I'd wait for my mom to speak the precious words that even 23-year-old Amy is still longing to hear today.

"Go back to bed. Today's a snow day."

Certain perks accompany the title of "teacher's daughter." Perhaps the cushiest in the months of November -March was the fact that as your fellowclassmates begrudgingly showered and got ready for school you slumbered peacefully because your mom had known before anyone else that today was a snow day.

And of course, being the great mom she was, she told you before you even let the toothpaste hit your pearly whites. And best of all, since mom was a teacher, you got to spend the whole day with her, drinking hot cocoa and watching daytime television.

Okay. Maybe the daytime television was not the best of all.

I have come to loathe snow days. Nothing has me clutching the beads more than blowing snow and black ice when the Happy Honda ventures out. But deep down inside, as the weather reports interrupt my regularly scheduled programming and the groans emerge before I can even give them a second thought, my stomach does a little flip.

A foot of snow? Any chance I can get a sled and a side of hot cocoa withthat?