A young boy anticipates the arrival of a snowstorm bearing gifts: days without school. “Wonderful, amazing, we-can’t-go snow.” Laminack generates the increasingly hopeful energy to a fever pitch: “No alarm clock ringing. No one saying, ‘Time to get up.’ No one shouting, ‘Hurry or you’ll be late!’ No school!” He’ll snuggle with his family under a blanket and drink hot chocolate and watch TV. And they’ll hit the slopes and sled. And they’ll build a snow fort with a zillion snowballs and a snowman. Maybe read a book, too. Gustavson creates a festive mood with his oil illustrations, so luxurious and ample they feel like bundles of winter clothing, topped with bright scarves. Then it’s off to bed with the same relish that attends Christmas Eve. Except, Christmas is never a no-show, like the great blows the hyperventilating weather forecasters predict. No time to deflate, though—got to get ready for school. Here Laminack throws in his sweet twist: It isn’t the young boy narrating but the father. “I can’t be late! I’m the teacher!” Should have known. What kid ever heard an alarm clock? (Picture book. 4-8)
