The window pane was chilly, but not frosty. It does not often freeze in Louisiana. Outside, nature shed the remaining brown tree leaves with gusts of violent wind. Spanish moss swayed at its precarious, dangling heights as if the trees were gray haired dancing girls. Light rain spattered against the glass where the drops clung together like lost siblings and streamed downward to rejoin their family on the ground.

It was dusk.

The timer issued a subdued [click] and our Christmas lights came on. Strings of red and white twinkled gently and moved following the motions encoded inside the tiny controller box. The mood in the living room changed subtly with the glow.

Emma hop-skipped and dropped her hands from above her head as she always did when they came on. She had waited for the precise moment indicated by the clock.

5:03 PM.

The timer was imprecise, but when I had pointed out the corresponding time on the stove clock and told her what to look for, she began waiting each day with her hands raised as she mimicked a symphony conductor using a preparatory gesture to ready her musicians.

I might be biased, but that is pretty smart for a four-year-old.

“Tomorrow is Christmas, Emma,” I said. “Aren’t you excited?”

Her brown hair swirled in the glowing light as she shook her head. “It’s not Christmas.”

“I told you it was coming. We even counted down! It’s tomorrow, Emma!”

The slightest frown crept into her little face and her jaw set. “It’s not Christmas, daddy.”

“Okay, why not?” I reached over and grabbed the big calendar with the fuzzy donkey pictures and pointed. “This is today. It’s the 24th. Tomorrow is the 25th, which is when Christmas happens every year.”

She peered quizzically at the grid of numbers. “It’s not Christmas without snow.”

It was then I noticed that there, on the 25th, was a Christmas sticker. With snow. To be fair, it also featured a llama wearing a red and white scarf. Even if it had been snowy outside, I thought that the llama was just another reason why it could not be Christmas using her logic. [No llama, no Christmas?]

“Sweetheart, Christmas comes on the same calendar day regardless of snow.”

“It snowed last year though!”

“‘Hmm. You remember that?” I could see that she was trying to understand the nuances of date grids, scarf wielding llamas, and a specific type of frozen precipitation.

She nodded vigorously.

“Mmm,” I said. My mind was a tornado of possible explanations, rationales, and stories I could invent.

[Maybe this is the time to use that gnome idea I had.]

Instead, I sighed and settled on something simple, and less fun. I put the calendar back on the wall and pulled my small globe from the top shelf near the desk and pointed at its surface.

“Remember, we moved, right? We used to live here, and now we’re down here. It may not seem like much, maybe just an inch…but we moved from the north to the south.” I pointed at the top of the globe. “See how it’s white up here at the north pole?”

She nodded, staring at the painted-on icebergs.

“The closer to the bottom or top we live, the more likely it is to snow at Christmas. Since we moved from Vermont to Louisiana, we probably won’t get any snowy Christmases.”

Emma frowned deeply. “Never?!”

I shrugged. “Probably, not. It’s just too warm here!”

Emma hugged herself and rubbed her arms. “I’m chilly. Why can’t it snow?”

“Uh, well. Even though it gets cold-ER than it was in the summer time, it still doesn’t get to freezing very often at all. Plus, the humidity in the air…” I shrugged again and let the explanation go.

“What’s hu-mid-erty?”

“Hu-mid-Ity. Never mind about that.” I peeked my head into the kitchen hoping for some distraction. “Hey, when’s dinner?”

“It’s only 5:06 PM, not for another hour or so.”

I sighed audibly.

“Daddy, are you mad?”

“Wha?! No baby.” I cringed a bunch inside (and a little outside) knowing that she was so observant. “I’m just trying to figure out how to explain.” Then- [Genius idea.]

“Wait!”

I searched for a video of a snow storm on my phone and cast it to the living-room’s big screen. “Here, sit on the couch, Emma.” I ran to the garage and brought back the portable air conditioner that I used for the shop. I plugged it in and positioned the outlet tube a few feet in front of Emma’s face.

She rubbed her arms again. “I really am chilly now.”

“It feels like Christmas, doesn’t it?” I grinned at her.

“Well, I guess.”

I beckoned around the corner, and Irene came to see.

“Ha. This is not gonna work out,” she said with a chuckle.

“It’s cheaper than a snow machine.”

Irene rolled her eyes and went back to rolling out gingerbread for cookies.

[I did it. I glossed over the hard questions, didn’t have to explain complex weather patterns, regional climates, or spend forty-five minutes on answering endless “whys.”] Inside, I conducted a big mental high-five from one hand to the other.

“Momma, when is dinner?” said Emma. “I’m cold.”