It’s January. In the Northeast. Temperatures dropping. It was inevitable that, eventually, we’d get it. You know. The S word.
Yup. Late last week, the news hyped the latest big storm to wreak havoc on our area. Weren’t you battering down your hatches, & buying all of the bread & milk you could get your panicked hands on?? Didn’t you hear of it??
Winter Storm Hercules.
*Commence with eye rolls & gagging in disgust.*
Here’s the thing. I understand that our area, following the devastation of Hurricane Sandy, is prone to waves of panic regarding any and all potential storms. But, c’mon. Do we really need to name… snow?
It seems that in our part of the country, a foot or so of snow is given a dramatic name and tracked by the media like a major celebrity. In other parts of the country, however, a foot or so of snow is just… you know..
So snow fell, accompanied with blizzard-like winds and extremely low temperatures. I’ll admit, it looked quite pretty.
From inside the house. I’m not going out there.
(Disclaimer: Lest I appear too delicate, fragile like a flower, please remember, as I said in my earlier post, Baby, It’s Cold Outside, I AM. Being cold blows.)
Friday morning we woke up to over a foot of snow. The good news was, The Captain didn’t have to go to work that day.
The bad news was, The Captain had to snow-blow not just our property, but the property of our loved ones that live nearby, because he’s an awesome guy like that.
The worst news was, that meant I was snowed-in with six wriggling, restless, snow-loving kids.
I tried to keep them busy. We played Connect 4. We played Wii. We built blanket tents. We baked cookies.
All by 10:30 AM.
I knew it was inevitable. But I did my best to postpone it. To perhaps avoid my fate. I distracted. I wheeled & dealed new activities, fun new diversions. But by 1 PM, they knew my game. And finally demanded it.
“Moooooomm???? Can we go out in the snoooow now?”
Now, I’m mature. I put on a good face, even though I felt like this on the inside:
If you’ve ever dressed a child in preparation for going out in the snow, then you have an idea of what it’s like. It takes forever.
Now, multiply that by 5. Because yes, #6 was going to experience the snow, too.
But hey, I got off easy. Because #1, a chilly girl after my own heart, opted out. She wisely chose Netflix and PJs over snow and boots.
So there were “only” 4 to dress.
Its’ not enough to just clothe these people in an assortment of boots, gloves, etc. Because despite the fact that there is a winter bin specifically designated for these exact items, our system depends on the children actually putting these items BACK into said bin.
Needless to say, we first must embark on a hunt to find the missing boot, the extra scarf, the glove that one swore was in his/her backpack. That’s a good 20 minutes right there.
The standing rule is that no one goes out until everyone is ready. Now, some get dressed rather quickly. Obviously, others require more assistance. So the dressed ones loiter around, fanning their sweating faces & moaning, while the others whine & kicked partially booted feet because “it won’t go OOOONNN!”
The time between collecting the gear and getting it on each and every child is appr. 45 minutes.
The amount of time actually spent outside? 20 minutes.
Now… I’m no math person, as evident in this post, It Just Doesn’t Add Up, but… I’m pretty sure that’s not really worth it.
For me, anyway. The kids?
They had a BLAST.
Well, most of the them did, anyway. #6 wasn’t particularly impressed.
This was #5’s first time out in a decent amount of snow. She wasn’t so sure at first; but then she quickly caught on. Her process: eat the snow. Submerge gloved hands into snow, thrusting snow INTO gloves. Freeze hands. Remove frozen gloves to eat snow with frozen hands. Wipe frozen, runny nose with frozen hands, smearing a glassy coating of snot across frozen face. And repeat…
She even loved the idea of throwing snowballs; only her method involved toddling after her victim, standing at their feet and slowly smearing the snow across his/her coat. Which, if given a choice, was a far better option than getting hit by THIS GUY:
#3, a.k.a. “The Hurler”
No one was spared. Well, except #5. Barely.
You’d think that one would avoid tangling with someone with such deadly aim, huh? Well, you’d be wrong. #2 opted to bum-rush #3, knocking him to the ground, and -ack!- getting snow into his glove.
Silly, silly #2
Revenge is a dish best served COLD.
Along with a good, old-fashioned whitewashing.
You mess with the bulls, you get the horns!
Diva #4, assessing the carnage.
Snow Bunny: how #4 rolls
They had such a good time, despite frozen fingers & frozen toes (and in some cases, frozen hair). It was well worth the 45 minutes of prep time… until they came back inside.
Wet boots. Wet coats. Wet hats, wet gloves, wet snowpants…. all.over.the.floor.
My socks were quickly sopping with ice cold melted snow, so I know a thing or two about suffering.
But it was done. Memories were made, kids were thawing and happy. And I dealt with the messy fallout.
And when they woke up the next day & asked to go out again, my motherly instincts kicked in, and …
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