Remember when I sternly admonished March (oh, all of two days ago) about her erratic weather behavior and obnoxious proclivity to cling to Winter, rather than letting go of all that nasty cold and allowing the warm breath of Spring to take over? Yeah, she's a stubborn b...attleax. Yesterday we experienced a brief window of sunny skies and 50*, during which I was able to go running and happily pretend the snowy season was firmly behind us. However...we leaped straight from those conditions to a Winter Storm Warning, with predicted snowfall of up to 10 inches for our area. What the WHAT? The Weather Gods are clearly playing some kind of twisted meteorological prank on us...and it's soooooo NOT FUNNY!
So we waited--with a mixture of dread (me), cynicism (the jaded youngsters, whose enthusiasm for the white stuff has been systematically beaten down over the past two practically-flake-less Winters), and just a smidge of anticipation (all of us, at the prospect of finally being excused from school and work for an official Snow Day). When we retired for the night, nary a drop of any precipatory sort had fallen from the sky...but we awoke to the sight of puffy frozen particles being swirled about by icy winds...and the notification that both the county schools and the college that employs me were closed due to "expected worsening conditions throughout the day". Well, then. The boys hunkered down to await that critical moment--at which the amount of white stuff on the ground would warrant freeing the never-been-used foam saucer sleds from their perches on the garage wall. Or enough for a snowball fight. A snowman. Anything, really; they weren't feeling too picky at this point. But although we watched...for hours...the outside world just got wetter...and slushier...and sloppier. The snow never really piled up in such a way as to encourage layering on the necessary gear to brave the outdoors and romp in it. Sigh. So let's recap: we got an unacceptably late-season snowstorm, that was a total bust in terms of entertainment. Stupid. March.
Okay, then--what DID the charming young men do with themselves all day? Oh, you know, the usual: bicker, video games, basement basketball, argue, get separated and sent to your rooms, eat, read, fight. (Sensing a pattern?) I know I mentioned Cabin Fever in my last post; but let me tell you, I had no idea how much worse it could get...until even the sound of my darling childrens' voices was enough of an irritant to scrape my very last raw nerve. How desperate was the situation? I dragged them grocery shopping with me--a perilous activity I've avoided for years, just to get them out of the house and provide a change of scenery. How did that go, you might wonder? Suffice it to say we got into a minor skirmish in the cereal aisle because, although the makers of the Pop Tart brand have wisely decided to remove the partially hydrogenated oil, (my previous argument for refusing to buy them--not the 97 grams of sugar, or lack of any redeeming nutritional value, or the like) they still contain...gelatin. And I'm sorry, I simply don't see any reasonable excuse for including leftover cow bits in my breakfast. Just...no. (Incidentally, I made what I thought to be a perfectly acceptable counteroffer: organic toaster pastries....which I used to feed them all the time, back when they were younger...more pliable...and less defiantly opinionated. And why did Derek reject my generous substitution? "It doesn't say 'Pop Tart' on the box." Grr...)
So here we are at the end of the day, unsure of the school status for tomorrow--but at least one person (that would be ME) is preparing as though everyone's out the door in the a.m. Lunches made, homework stowed in backpacks, alarms set, bedtime approaching (hallelujah). All I know for sure is: they'd darn well better go off to their respective corners--I mean "institutions of learning and whatnot"--because clearly they spent waaaayyyy too much time in each others' company for the past 12 hours. How do I know? As Riley bounded upstairs after dinner, he breezily called, "I'm gonna go take a hot shower. But wait, I'm already hot!" Derek bent double with appreciative howls of laughter, then straightened up long enough to proudly cry, "High five, bro!" Yeah...I don't need TWO smart-mouthed adolescents cooped up inside...with me...for another day. Now please excuse me while I go find and bribe the driver of a passing salt truck...