People new to Maine and winter in general confirmed this week what I already knew: my previous column — about roof rakes, endless snow and pajamas before 5 p.m. — was ominous. Although, I would argue that my tips were not nearly as ominous as the actual weather we have been experiencing for two solid weeks.

In any case, in an effort to soften the message, I want to share one other thing I’ve learned since moving to Maine from Florida 10 years ago: Snow days are a gift.

Snow days are part of childhood legends. They are Hollywood script goldmines. And, at the end of the year, they are most kids’ favorite days between the first day of school and the last.

Snow days are pretty spectacular for adults, too — especially teachers.

But you don’t get snow days in Florida.

I shared this bit of reality with my boys last Friday, on their second consecutive snow day, and I asked if they remembered a time when there was no such thing as waking up to find out there is no school. Ford, 17, has some memories of kindergarten and first grade in Florida, but the others — Owen, 15, and Lindell, 11 — have never been to school anywhere except Maine.

“You mean kids in Florida never get a call early in the morning saying that they don’t have school?” Lindell asked.

“Not usually,” I told him. “Unless it’s a hurricane. And they know those are coming.”

The look on Lindell’s face was one of shock and pity, because, obviously, snow days are the best part of being a kid (and a working adult). Not having snow days is like waking up and finding out Santa didn’t come.

If you are new to the state and new to snow days, they usually go something like this: Excitement builds as the weather forecast calls for snow. Teenagers get out their Snow Day App and cling to its results like the Yes/No on a Magic 8 Ball. Every time they click refresh, the app says something different, and emotions run high. Will there be a snow day or not?

Parents start to make arrangements and secretly check the snow day app, too. Maybe their work will close. Maybe they should get bread and milk and ingredients for cookies. Is there anything on Netflix to watch? Do you have all the knitting supplies? Are your favorite pajamas clean and ready for a full day of wearing?

People start to talk and share their predictions. Yes, school will probably be closed, they say. Or, no, we will definitely have school. There is talk about when the snow is predicted to start and stop and whether the plows will have enough time to clear the roads before busses are scheduled to make their rounds.

The kids start to get their hopes up. Secretly, the parents do, too. Someone advises that everyone sleep with their pajamas on inside out, just in case. Popular lore says that sometimes this works to please the snow day gods.

Everyone goes to bed on time because a snow day is not guaranteed.

And then, early in the morning, the phone rings. The sound pierces the stillness of the house like an alarm clock. Only, this is a very welcome alarm. Those who are woken easily rush to grab the phone. Those who need a 4-alarm fire to open their eyes stay blissfully asleep. And then whoever got to the phone first — in my house it’s always Ford — yells, “It’s a snow day!”

Suddenly, even the heaviest sleepers are awake but joyful.

For a brief period of time, other phones ring and text messages sound as the school department delivers the message to every device registered on the family’s emergency list. No one has ever been happier to hear the superintendent’s voice. If she calls five more times on each cell phone in the house, the kids will listen to the message again with rapt attention. And each time they hang up, they yell, “Snow day!” and celebrate some more.

If the parents are lucky enough to have work canceled, there are pancakes to make, cookies to bake and Netflix to watch. No one gets out of pajamas. No one watches the clock. There is no such thing as a schedule. Who can get out of the driveway anyway?

The younger kids dump out all their Legos and spend hours building. Sometimes, the older siblings partake in younger activities that would not seem interesting on a regular day. They might build Legos, too, or help a younger brother make an origami Yoda.

In short, a snow day is like Christmas Day, defined by family togetherness, closed stores, and nothing to do but be together.

It’s a gift not granted in other, warmer parts of the country. And the next day, as we step out into waist-high snow banks and begin to dig out, we can all cling to that.