It is eight thirty, a fine glitter of snow has begun to fall. You can see it if you look out the window at the streetlight. Hard to tell if it is sticking, but it is winter...
"Go To Bed!"
"Dad, can I borrow your chicken bone?"
The girl pokes around in the part of the kitchen where we cure the chicken bones but comes up with nothing.
"Where is it?"
"I don't know"
"I know where the is a wishbone. I've been saving it since Thanksgiving, it is a powerful one."
Synchronous gasps of delight.
"We can both make the same WISH!"
"For a Snow Day?"
"One, Two, THREE!"
I watch both halves of the wishbone snap simultaneously, and the little y shaped piece from the top spiral through the kitchen. There was a moment of silence as each one checked the piece in hand, which lasted until they looked up at each other and broke into jubilant cheers.
And with that, the girl took a spoon up to bed (it goes under her pillow).