Another week, another snow day. Honestly, I think these kids are going to be making up school days until July this year. They certainly have used up all their freebies. And there's nothing like a snow day to drive home to you just how bad a parent you are.
I mean, think about it. There is nothing to do. So, in spite of every good intention, the television goes on at the crack of dawn (since a nine-year-old and a six-year-old are incapable of "sleeping in") and stays on all day. ALL DAY. And insisting that they "read a book" (my usual go-to alternative to sitting in front of the idiot box) rings hollow because sitting and reading for hours on end isn't really all that much better. So they fight over the remote, flipping between old, stupid cartoons and new, even stupider cartoons -- that is, until the fourteen-year-old surfaces from beneath the mound of blankets and comforters (around 11:30 or so), and wants to watch High School Musical 2, again.
I can send them outside in the freezing rain for some good fresh air and exercise. No, really, kids, put on two pairs of socks and three pairs of dollar-rack knit gloves, Vaseline up your face against the chill, shove on those boots, and go play in the mountain of ice covered snow that now makes up our front yard. Don't worry that you sink shoulder-deep with each step, it's winter FUN! That bruise from getting hit in the forehead with a big ice-ball will go away in a few minutes. Just rub it.
Then as they slide into the house, soaked to the skin, I'll try to convince them that this was the funnest five minutes they've had all week.
I stuff them with snacks (animal crackers and hot chocolate) every two hours because they're bored, I'm bored, and that's the perfect excuse to eat.
I seethe resentfully as I dig out the cars from the solid barrier of petrified slush left by the snow plows, irritated that each shovelful weighs more than either of the two younger kids. I mutter an ungracious thanks to the teenager because his idea of "clearing the sidewalk" and mine are not entirely compatible. I exhaust all of the online message boards and Internet articles I typically cycle through in a day, disgusted that nobody has anything interesting or lengthy enough to say to keep my attention.
After the fifty-seventh "Mom, guess what?" I resolve to change my name. I hide behind my closed bedroom door, emerging only to stir the curry in the big pot on the stove.
It's dark now, and I realize all of the cool things I could have done today. I could have played in the snow with the kids, rather than watching them through the window. I could have taken them for a walk (slippery, yes) around the block to take a gander at the alien white landscape. I could have hauled out the board games: Sorry, Monopoly, even chess -- and stood a good chance of winning at two of them.
Snow days mean inconvenience all around, an abrupt shuffling of the plans for the week, an ultimately wasted day. But they also mean opportunities to connect with children who, too soon, are going to have other options besides being trapped in the house on a day off from school. It's a cosmic finger on the pause button, the breathing minute we long for during the rush of the normal work week.
It's a lesson learned too late for this snow day. It's time for dinner, and, after that, bed. It is, after all, a school night. But this bad mother resolves to do better next time -- and there will be a next time: it's only the beginning of February in New England. Regardless of whether Paxatawney Phil saw his shadow this morning, there's still another three and a half months of winter to go. We haven't seen the last snow day for the year, not by a long shot.
Next time, I'll be ready with my hat, gloves, and a better attitude.
No comments:
Post a Comment