Ahh, snow days. It always happens—the first blizzard of the year and I dream in anticipation about being hunkered down in the house, fire crackling as we quietly lounge around in our pajamas, watching movies or catching up on our reading. Maybe playing a mean game of Scrabble while sipping some hot chocolate.
And then it happens . . . and I remember that my snow day dreams are never quite equivalent to my snow day reality.
Granted, we all are in some sort of pajama-mode attire, which for the two youngest boys means nothing but their underwear. The fire is crackling, or at least burning, since it’s a gas fireplace, but quiet and relaxing? Yeah, not quite.
Boys #2 and 3 have been upstairs most of the day playing Pokemon, and occasionally come down to tattle on each other (or Boy #1), whine that they’re hungry, or tell me that they need help wiping (that’s Boy #3).
Boy #1 and I have been on the couch, me trying to work on the computer, and Boy #1 watching Husband play Call of Duty. There’s nothing that brings families together more than a good deathmatch. I’ve tried to remain calm and relaxed (It’s a snow day for heaven’s sake; that’s what you do on a snow day!), however it’s a bit difficult when I am constantly bombarded with either the sounds of Husband getting killed by a sniper (and expressing his anger “under his breath”), the smell of Boy #1’s gas, or the feel of Boy #1’s clammy feet on my skin (and then the sound of my own voice reminding Boy #1 again that I don’t enjoy people touching me with their feet). And then there are the annoying sounds Boy #1 continues to make. Honestly, I think it comes with puberty, the ability to produce the world’s most annoying noises in a baker’s dozen different varieties. I mean, I don’t enjoy the actual farting, so I’m not sure why he thinks I’ll enjoy the sound of faux farting.
I even made a hearty snow-day supper: Lasagna Soup, courtesy of Jody at Fab Food Friday. And after answering “Soon!” about a bazillion times as Boy #1 asked me when dinner was going to be ready, I finally dished it out. But as is the case most of the time, the boys were less than appreciative. Granted, Boy #1 had been suffering from “stomach issues” all day (hence the farting), so he said he liked it but it was too spicy. Boy #3 ate half a bowl of it until he saw what Boy #2 was having and insisted, “It’s not fair!” and demanded his own. And what was this culinary delight that Boy #2 was having? A bowl of store-brand Frosted Mini- Wheats. I give up.
(But it is delicious; take my word for it, not the boys’.)
The Dog has been suffering from cabin fever all day too, vacillating between passed out in front of the fireplace to running hot laps through the kitchen and family room. When I finally give in and take him outside, he tries to prance through the snow but can’t quite make it since he sinks clear to his belly. Yet he seems to forget that fact five minutes after we’ve been back inside and starts barking at me to take him out again.
And as I’m writing this I see that school is already canceled for tomorrow. . .
Wish me luck!