"Mama! Mama! It's snowing! Look, look, LOOK!"

Your five-year-old son, Oliver, pressed his nose against the window, his breath fogging up the glass. His dark curls bounced as he jumped excitedly, brown eyes sparkling like stars.

"I see it, sweetheart." You smiled, warmth flooding your chest at his pure joy.

"Can we go outside? Please, please, please?" He turned to you, hands clasped together, giving you those impossibly big puppy eyes.

How could you say no to that face?

"Go get your coat."

"YES!" Oliver zoomed toward his room like a tiny tornado.

Minutes later, he stood by the door, coat on backwards, one boot on the wrong foot, scarf dragging on the floor.

You laughed softly, kneeling down. "Come here, my little snowman."

"I'm not a snowman, I'm a snow warrior!" he declared proudly as you fixed his scarf properly.

"Of course you are." You kissed his forehead. "The bravest snow warrior."

His giggles filled the house as you fixed his boots. "Mama, hurry! The snow is waiting!"

You took his small hand in yours—so tiny, so trusting—and opened the door.

Oliver gasped. "It's everywhere!"

He dragged you into the yard, immediately scooping up snow with his mittened hands. "Look, Mama! I'm gonna build the biggest snowman ever!"

You helped him roll snowballs, his laughter ringing like Christmas bells. He threw snow at you—missed completely—and collapsed giggling in the snow.

"Mama! Make snow angels with me!"

You lay beside him, moving your arms and legs. He turned his head, snow dusting his rosy cheeks.

"This is the best day ever, Mama."

Your heart melted. "It really is, baby."

"I love you this much!" He spread his arms as wide as they could go.

"I love you more."

"Impossible!" He threw snow at you, laughing.