I remember snow days so fondly. My brother and I would stay in our jammies all day. We would watch movies, read and relax. My mom would make a hot, homemade meal. Heck, I even remember her letting us in the kitchen to help her cook. It never seemed chaotic.
My mom seemed like she had everything under control. She was cool as a cucumber. At least that’s what I remember.
Flash forward to today. My kids first snow day of the school year.
Alarm goes off, and I wake up the boys. My husband tells us there is no school today. They scream and jump for joy.
My husband has to go to work early. He is a TV news photographer. TV news never gets a snow day.
I call my mom to see if she can watch the boys. She has the stomach flu that we all had nearly 48 hours ago. So it’s me and the boys. I hope they cooperate as I (try to) work from home. I am so blessed that I have the luxury to work from home on days like this.
So far so good. We lay in bed and watch Toy Story 3. I got this. This will be great.
My husband makes us beef and barley stew before goes to work. This is one less thing that I have to worry about.
I am able to reschedule a few meetings and turn the rest into phone calls. I got this.
The boys decide to build a spaceship out of a delivery box.
My 3-year-old is playing peacefully with Play-Doh and my 9-year-old is reading in his room. This gives me a chance to work on a few projects and catch up on email.
My husband calls to check on us. I got this.
All hell breaks loose. Play-Doh is flying everywhere. Kids are screaming. No one is listening to me. There is a wrestling match in my living room. I decide to feed them lunch.
My 9-year-old is stir crazy. He was home with a stomach bug the last two days, and he just wants to run.
My kids apparently hate beef and barley stew. We have almost nothing left in the fridge and I am not going out in the freezing rain. I scrounge up peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, pepperoni, grapes and chex mix. This seems to satisfy them.
My husband calls to check on me. He can sense the tension in my voice.
Play-Doh continues to be thrown.
Can you guess how many times I have said (possibly yelled) ….
1) What did I step in?
2) Why is this wet?
3) Don’t touch him!
4) Don’t pee there!
5) Be quiet! I’m on the phone!
6) Do not use marker on my laptop screen!
7) Just wait until your dad gets home!
8) Why is there Play-doh in the peanut butter?
9) I want MY mom!
10) Where’s Trinidad?!
I ban them to their beds for a nap.
They seem quiet. I try not to make any sudden moves. I have a conference call with my boss and catch up on email.
It’s still quiet. I catch up on more work. Thank you the sweet sound of silence.
They must be really tired. I lay down, too.
And we’re up! And they’re starving. I order dinner with Postmates. I try to pick Play-Doh out of the carpet.
My husband is home. Phew! I have no energy left to yell. He asks, “Why is there is Play-Doh everywhere?”
I call my mom to see how she is and tell her that I love her.