Snow Day

As such, I can return to blogging instead of doing laundry, grading, bills, Christmas shopping --well, I've done a little of that, and maybe in a little while, I'll stop procrastinating. 

Thus far I've drunk hot chocolate with marshmallows.

Watched cartoons with my kids.

Cleaned out my inbox.

Eaten Christmas cookies.

Made a list of the things I should have been doing. 

Gone to the bank for a check register and to two different CVS for the prescription.

On any other day, this would be a reasonably efficient day. 

The problem with a snow day is,I don't have the excuse of not having time for not having gotten stuff done. 

National Catholic Register

Taking on the Second Glorious Mystery today.  I'm also making chili, chocolate chip cookies and slumming big time on a SNOW day.  Now I want another one....next week. 

We Interrupt the Internet....

If there's one thing the Internet with all it's connections to everything we should eat, shouldn't miss, must have read, should never do, should always do, should teach our kids, and which might change our lives, does, it's make whatever you are doing, whatever you have done, and even what you hope to do, feel inadequate.

You remember the kid in high school in the Latin class who would argue with the teacher about the proper tense translation and cite three sources for his opinion over that of the teacher's?  Yeah. Remember that annoying person who wanted to show everyone else how stupid they were by comparison?  That's the Internet with it's ever quirky Pinterest pins lined up in your inbox to show you how whatever you're making for your kid's 4th birthday, is lame, no matter how well intentioned.

You eat your pizza wrong.  You diet wrong. You read the wrong books, watched the wrong movies, and failed to exercise the right muscles to insure you will stay healthy.  You don't save money the way the experts do.  You don't eat kale fifteen times a day.  You don't sleep properly.  You are talking to your cat wrong.  Disney gets its princesses wrong, and if you enjoyed the movie, you're cooperating with the creation of a whole new generation of oppressed people.   It's one giant scold based on what?   Of all things, math.   Who wants their tastes, preferences and opinions shaped by an equation with no answer save you're not right?

If you aren't being nagged into feeling inadequate, you're being cajoled for failing to type "Amen" to prove you love someone, to copy and paste to prove you're a friend, and told you're an ENJP instead of a ISPF or whatever because you picked the beach house instead of the tranquil field.   Buzzfeeds quizzes alone will tell you, whatever you thought you were, the algorithms say different.  

Maybe it's the result of being cooped up inside for 5 days straight with three feet of white stuff to shovel.  I've cooked food, gone outside, played cards and we've made tunnels.  But even as we go about this business of living, the radio gives us a reminder of top ten things we shouldn't do in the snow, (we did about seven of them).

So I went outside, where the internet cannot find me, I didn't bundle up properly and threw a snowball at the sky and shaped a dragon in the snow. We sledded.  They threw snowballs.  We didn't take any pictures of it on my phone. The only sound outside was the occasional snow blower, and the thawing of snow from our roof.  The outside real world is saying, be still, enjoy this quiet time with your kids.  And we did.  When we got too cold and wet to stay out, I brought them back in, brewed up some microwave popcorn and some curled up to watch a movie.  Others settled into books.  The youngest took a bath.  The world felt more real, between the baths and the books and the popcorn.  

There's probably some link that says why we should have air popped the stuff but I'm not going to look for it.

Small Success Thursday Snow Day Edition

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Fat Tuesday

Stepping on the scale, it certainly is Mardi Gras. (Sigh). Ten days of being snowbound did not help with my nutrition or weight. There are cups and towels and shoes and socks and papers and magic cards and pennies and Valentine scraps and cheerios scattered everywhere. Every room is a project waiting for a devotion of an entire day. Last week, we shoveled snow, this week; I will be shoveling everything else.

It's like the kids were house guests who threw a week long party and you know the rule about fish and visitors. Three days, they've been here 10. Even if school had not been in session, the kids would have been dropped off there today for at least 5 hours. But I'm not completely heartless; I would have packed them lunches and maybe a snack.

But I've decided for Lent, I'm not going to indulge my irritated gritch that resents when the lion's share of the domestic chores get left for her to do. I'm giving her up. She wasn't very good company, she didn't even get much done and no one will miss her, not even me.

Naturally whenever one reaches for grace, the world pulls back with all its vigor. Look. Your daughter just deliberately poured an entire box of cheerios onto the floor and began smashing them. The gritch was ready to pounce but I handed my daughter the shop vac and watched as she took care of the problem.

The rest of the house loomed. I made beds. When I found my daughter's lost shoe, three bottles, fifteen socks and a spare load of laundry sitting in the closet from a child's attempt to clean the room without cleaning, I reminded myself, all suffering is a means of grace.
All suffering is a means of grace. All suffering is a means of grace.

Then I found a puddle of water from the melted snow in the basement requiring seven big towels. There were books that I had collected and ordered taken to the bookcases in the basement that had been placed on the floor where they got to soak up all the snowy goodness instead. There were also legos everywhere and a costume box that had been dumped. Grrrrrrr.
The Gritch loomed, "See? See? Ash Wednesday isn't until tomorrow." she hissed.

Maybe I'll just give up chocolate.

Answered Prayer

Last week, we were tired. There was so much on the schedule and it loomed throughout the month to come. Basketball, Confirmation meetings, band rehearsal, scholarship auditions, music lessons, homework, plus the normal everyday errands; there was just no way we'd get to everything. Audibly sighing as I rattled off the schedule for the week, my husband griped, "I'd just like a break from all of it. Even God needs to give us a day off." We dutifully trundled everyone off to mass.

This morning when the radio announced that people were dispensed from the Sunday obligation owing to the weather, I poked him. "God answered your prayer. You are free. There is nothing on the schedule for yesterday, today or tomorrow."

Stretching and recognizing new aches from the shoveling of yesterday, discreet twinges of pain in my wrists and shoulder, ribs and the back of my legs, I looked out at the 3 feet of snow. "Only God could solve your problem and so God gave you a day off."

I popped an Advil as the radio commentator moaned and announced another foot of snow was expected Tuesday.

Looking at my husband who had a happy kid snow day smile on his face, “God is on my side.” He said.

I threw a pillow at him and said, "You know, most people, when they need a break, they just buy airline tickets."

It's Lovely now that it has stopped

Stay warm. Stay safe.  Enjoy the stillness that not being able to go anywhere brings.  Marc took this photo from our front door with his cell phone.

Snow Cakes, Turkey Vultures and Extreme Extermination Measures

We have a very long driveway. It clocks out at one tenth of a mile.

We had a very large blizzard; about 18 inches dumped itself all over the DC area.

That driveway is a pain when you just want to get the mail or bring back the recycling cans. But when you have to shovel snow....pass the advil please.

Our children were dutiful. I will give them full marks for their valiant attempts to shovel the white stuff away. We got through 2/3rds of the job but fatigue and darkness postponed completion by one day. So today, in an effort to eliminate the job and keep the kids from despair, my husband hit upon snow cakes.

He shoveled out breaks in the drifted snow, carving out rectangles that were 8x5x2 and then we personalized them with the shovel. Different sizes were rendered for different children. Then we dressed them warmly and sent them outside. The walk was clean within the hour.

So now I'm wondering, if I wrote their names on top of their piles of laundry, would it get put away in sixty minutes?

Snow brings out the crazy in most of us.

So when I saw my kids all staring at the far back trees and throwing snowballs into the air, I assumed they were having a normal sibling scrimmage. My oldest was studying for exams and I decided he needed a break so we dressed warmly and snuck out the front to spring a surprise attack. We ran out to find two of my children lying still on the dry shoveled driveway. The others were motioning for us to ssshhhhhh.

They were trying to lure a Turkey buzzard by pretending to be carrion so they could throw snowballs.

No Turkey Buzzards were fooled by my turkeys, not even close.

Then, the mailman pulled up in his truck. He had to wait for the children to scramble off into the snow as he pulled up to hand out five boxes. Telling him they were bait for scavenger birds didn't even raise an eyebrow. I'd say that meant he'd heard such things before but I doubt it.

Relative Math

God had proclaimed a snow day.

The County had declared a two hour delay.

The Jesuits apparently have a chronological system all unto themselves. A two hour delay means school starts at 9:20 a.m. So my son arrived via bus and Metro at school forty minutes late. He was assigned JUG. (Justice Under God, detention for all those non S.J. educated).

My argument that 2 hours+an 8 o’clock starting time equals ten could not defeat the emotionally indifferent “Did you read the parent’s handbook?”

I don't read instruction manuals either but usally, in English, 2 hour delays mean 2 hour delays.


My other kids got the day off in its entirety.
Why?
I lost my car keys.

Seven children fed, dressed, coated, mittened, scarfed and hatted even! Seven children loaded into the car with lunches packed for four. Seven children sitting waiting for Mom to drive them…and she can’t find her keys.

Even worse, Mom thinks she knows where the keys are…somewhere under the snow from shoveling the night before to clear the walk.

Now I could have just called and said, “Car trouble,” but with four children at the same school, odds were the truth would have come out anyway. I could just see my five year old brightly marching into her classroom to explain she got the day off because Mommy couldn’t find her car keys. So I ‘fessed up to the school. The secretary was still laughing when she hung up.

Exponents…

So the kids pile out of the car and explode into the home. By the time I unload my stuff and the baby, they have scattered to the four corners of the world, one on computer, two playing Nintendo, two are raiding the refrigerator for a second breakfast and one has buried herself back in the blankets with a book. Blowing my whistle (a’la Captain Von Trap), I summoned the horde.

Do any of you know what exponents are?

The two oldest raise their hands, eager to show off to the others what they know.

“Good.” I thrust a calculator in one child’s hands and a pencil and paper in the other’s.

“ You. Add this up. You. Check her math.”

You, all six of you come in the door. You drop your coats –those of you that can, (6), and gloves (12), scarves (6), hats (6), lunch boxes (4), backpacks (5), shoes (14), socks (13) how does that happen? and the baby comes in with her car seat, blanket, baby bag and then you add my purse and bag and coat and I have…seventy two things to put away. Add to that five beds to make…, the eight meals already served, the spoons, cups, plates and napkins, (32 items) and you’re lucky we even got in the car!

They are all looking at me blinking, waiting for the grande finale.

If you would like to eat before nine o’clock tonight…message received before she’s even finished pushing buttons to give me a grand total…they began scrambling.

Lessons learned…The Miracle of Compound Interest

I still haven’t found my keys. I've reshoveled the walk and walked the yard where I might have dropped them. I remember losing my student id and keys in the snow in Southbend Freshman year in early October. In April, I found them thawing by the sidewalk. At least it isn't as long a wait.

We’ll be able to drive tomorrow regardless, I’ll cannibalize my husband’s keys, but I have offered a ten dollar reward after offering a two dollar award and having no takers even for a cursory search. When I asked my son why he wasn’t interested in the new bounty being offered, he smiled, “Well, I have a lot of shopping to do for Birthday month.”

“And?”

“I figure if I wait a few more hours, you’ll raise the reward to $20.00.”
"Fink!" I'm thinking. "Fat chance." I say. "I could buy a whole new set of keys for that."

Birthday month is the season from March 8 to April 13th, when one cousin, two sons and two daughters have celebrations honoring the days they first started making their needs publically known. Usually Easter is sandwiched somewhere in there too, so it is a time overflowing with cake and celebration despite Lent.

We suffer our sack cloths and ashes in other ways…

Any parent who has ever accidentally won at Candy Land knows the game was designed by someone who either really hated kids or loved punishing grown-ups. Being a snow day and unable to go anywhere, I couldn’t weasel out of playing it by giving the adult excuse of “Have to run errands.”

So we played. It just doesn’t satisfy a three year old or a two to say “Good game.” So I go in planning to throw the game. On more than one occasion, I have deliberately miscounted to avoid the great slide of doom for my offspring, or self sacrificed and sent my own piece careening down so I could endure another 15 minutes of spinning the dial and moving the little happy people up the ladder.

It is a tedious experience, such that I have considered adding numbers to the number wheel like 20 and 15 to speed up the pace. Then it hit me. Those Jesuits used Candyland Math to get through the day.

So What Have I Learned?

Thinking of creating a Parent Manual with the option of an Evening two hour delay which would require that bed time be moved up 80 minutes in the event of a snow day or a mental emergency on the part of an adult.

I summoned the kids. "I'm setting the timer." I push 30 minutes. "The bounty for the keys is 10 dollars. If the keys are found in the next 30 minutes, you will get the ten bucks. After that, you get nothing but thanks."

Candyland toddler girl found the keys in five minutes. Wonder if I can swap the ten spot for another round of Candyland.

Moral: There is none, except don't lose your keys and try http://www.humor-blogs.com/!

Two Diet Cokes and a ride on the Potty Train….

Having already used my children’s proclivities towards lavatory use for two occasions of quick laughs, perhaps I am in danger of becoming precious and a broken record. After 14 years in the diaper trenches, one develops a sense of entitlement to broach the subject yet again.

Consider my own experience the equivalent of Wikipedia on parenting skills: lots of info, none of it necessarily relevant or accurate or the result of applied working knowledge.
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We have two that are of age for this change in the diapering regimen. The older one has staunchly refused to even consider the matter, the younger thought she’d be experimental.

“HEY! That’s MY POTTY.” The older one said with his not so inside voice.

“I’m going potty.” She responded, making “Shssss.” Noises as she sat.

“That’s MY potty. My DADDY GAVE IT TO ME.” A fight was brewing.

“Then why don’t you use it?” I intervened.

“Then I’d get it all dirty.” He explained simply.

Sigh. No promise from on high has been able to move him off this sincerely held conviction that using said potty chair for its created purposes would destroy the essence, the beauty of the potty itself.
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On the first day of Christmas there was a two hour delay which turned into a secret snow day because I lost my keys! I begged for their help in finding the things that make the car go.

Being sensible children, they went outside to play in the snow.

Four hours later and still no luck, I summoned the children again. “Think like Mom. Think like a tired Mom, because that’s when I lost them.” I suggested.

My daughters saw the opportunity and ran with it. Putting their arms out like zombies, they said, “NEED...DIET...COKE!” A parade of zombies crying out for chocolate and diet soda fanned out searching for my lost keys. The parody got more zombie like a'la Scoobie doo monster type as more children joined in the general mocking of Mom.

“It is unwise to mock your mother.” Still, for all the times I'd been the finder of others things, I took the deserved abuse in good humor and sipped a cold dc.

That afternoon I found my keys and where were they? Next to an abandoned now luke warm half drunk diet caffeinated beverage.

I may have to switch to coffee just to throw them off.