There was a giant blue stain across the weather map on TV a few minutes ago, a blob of indistinct shape hovering over the upper midwest with the word "Snow" posted ominously over it.
We're going to get blasted. Ten inches, "they" say.
While that conjures up any number of alarming possibilities, the most daunting is this: school is very likely going to be cancelled tommorrow. Meaning I will be locked down with two antsy, wiggling, fighting, nosepicking, shrieking jackals; by days end, there will be an enormous lump of wet boots, gloves, hats, socks, and snowpants strewn around the front hall. There will be ice balls underfoot throughout the house. Legos and plastic soldiers will carpet the floor. I will be fetching snacks, wiping noses, mopping ice melt, and refereeing disputes from sun up 'til sundown.
And then, I will get to go out and shovel ten inches of snow off my driveway and sidewalk.
The myth of the snow day is that children are enraptured by the glorious freedom of an unexpected day off; that they head out with sleds and hockey sticks and frolic the day away until their parents are forced to drag them off the sledhill or frozen pond at dark to come inside for a steaming bowl of homemade vegetable soup and handmade cinammon rolls.
The reality is: they will pull on four layers of mobility-limiting outerwear and go outside just long enough to get covered, head to toe, in clinging snow; then fling open the kitchen door, letting in an ice cold blast of arctic chill air and white powder which will drop the internal temperature of the house by an immediate 78 degrees. They will trudge in and stand in a rapidly swelling pool of ice melt on the kitchen floor while they lick the snot that is running down their face. They will wrestle off their clothes, drop them in a sopping pile, and demand that you make them hot chocolate-which they will promptly spill on the rug. Ten minutes later, they will start pulling on the abandoned snowsuits to start the process all over again. Ad infinitum.
By 2:00, a grouchy dad will be seriously thinking about serving codeine cough syrup and Grand Marnier for lunch, all the while wondering what he has done to receive such a raw deal from God.
At times like this, my friends, only singing cats can lift my sagging spirits. Fortunately, I know right where to find some.
Take me away, fellas.....
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5 comments:
Oh wow, thanks for the jingle cats. I needed that stuck in my head.
Jingle Cats. Awesome.
My pity is with you. Wet boots and gloves mmmmmmmm.
I wonder what they smear on those microphones to make the cats so attentive?
I had to go underground for a little while please e-mail me at: hlawnicki@yahoo.com if you would like to read.
Having never lived in the Great Frozen North, I have a pretty romantic vision of snow days. Which you have just destroyed. Thanks.
I'm going to stand over here, stick my fingers in my ears and sing "Winter Wonderland".
"In the meadow we can build a snowman,
Then pretend that he is Parson Brown..."
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