I think I spoke a little too soon about the paltry snowfall.
I had a semi clever idea last night. I quickly realized that once my kids knew that it was a snow day, that they’d be up and in my room way before I was ready to experience them. For a reason that I will never understand, I had to drag their zombie asses out of bed yesterday (and all school mornings) at 7.15, but come weekends, holidays and snow days, they leap out of bed and into my face at 6.30. (This phenomenon is in a category with photosynthesis and the process by which chicken lays eggs that turn into other chickens, and eggs that don’t: Things that I acknowledge, but will never understand.)
“The school sent another email,” I said last night, as I was putting them to bed. “The snow day is being reconsidered due to paltry snowfall.”
“Nice try,” said one of the boys. “You just want us to stay in bed past eight.”
Eight? If all of you slept until eight, I’d call the pediatrician. At this point I would gladly take seven thirty. My trick kind of worked. The boys may have been awake, but they didn’t surface until NINE. I’m certain they were partly convinced that if they showed their faces, I’d tell them the snow day had been called off.
By nine, however, I’d already been subjected to over two hours of three year old, and one hour and forty five minutes of five year old. I’m done, and they’re only getting started.
I must have brought the underwhelming, underperforming snow with me from Seattle.
All day long we were barraged with reports of coming blizzard that would shut the city down tomorrow. Sidney’s preschool was cancelled before her morning was over. The other kids had school cancelled before the first flakes fell. (Long Island is set to bear the brunt of the storm. I’d make a snarky comment here, but I’m technically bridge and tunnel now, so I really don’t have grounds for snark.)
To be fair, it has snowed. Somewhat.
It just hasn’t snowed anywhere near enough to shut down this city, and it certainly hasn’t snowed enough (yet) to warrant a snow day. (Though this does beat Seattle’s snowless snow days.)
Still, in anticipation of a house full of perpetually hungry children on a constant snack-troll, I made some cookies. (Snow days are no way to begin a New Year’s health plunge. Nobody wants to snuggle up with a celery juice, not even me.)
My mixer is a constant reminder of both my dislike of baking and of my ability to kill any appliance that enters my kitchen.
I have to switch it on and then whack it with my fist to get it whirring. If I desire a higher speed, I need to whack it again. Even though it appears to have 8 settings, it only has those two speeds. Sometimes I need to unplug it to shut it off. I’ve been known to shout at it, but that’s never gotten me anywhere. It seems I cannot even get an appliance to be subordinate.
I’m going to sleep now. I’ll need my wits about me tomorrow, what with all those children and that errant mixer.
Yesterday it snowed. Because all of Seattle would come to a polite, but screeching halt with an inch of snow (and because snow in LA is as common as visible signs of aging), after fifteen years on the west coast, I’d never really had to drive in it.
Not so in New York City.
I told a friend that I was going to cancel an appointment I had later in the day and she looked at me as though I had just said, “I’m sorry. I’d open that jar of baby food and feed your starving infant, but I’m afraid to chip a nail.”
Still, while I was prepared to brave the elements, my minivan was not. I piled out of the driveway and immediately got stuck on this hill:
(Do not judge. Yesterday it was covered in snow.)
I’m not sure how, but I got the car back in the garage and walked Sidney to school, which means I carried her after she fell in the snow and soaked her capri pants (again, with the seasonally inappropriate clothing).
The kids wore themselves out playing in the snow after school (that’s right Seattleites: School!) which meant we only had to yell at them for 30 minutes to get them to sleep instead of the usually 90. (When the annoying gratitude people get me to make a list, remind to say bedtimes on snow days.)
Still, I was once again up before the sun. Sid seems to have shifted her DPT to five-something in the morning, because she trotted on in and asked me to watch her do it. I told her that if she’s blessed enough to have a Daily Poop Time, she should have the good sense and decency not to request a bloody audience.
Before I knew it, she and Fi were in our bed, fighting because someone’s feet were touching someone’s leg.
Wars have been fought over less, I’m sure.