As the wife to an employee of a Catholic School, there is absolutely nothing more I look forward to than a 5:36am automated voice call that says “two-hour delay.” It is made better when that call is followed by an even more exciting 7:36am call that says “school is closed,” for seemingly little to no reason on this warmer than the recent average, bright sunny day. And since all boy Catholic schools tend to do mostly whatever they want, anyway, there is little to no threat of him having to make up this day some other day. With Josephine awake and hall darting since 4:45am, and as a mother who seriously lacks any creativity so early in the morning, or at most times of the day, it was clear that the idea to pack the entire contents of her wardrobe into a suitcase and dream a wonderful adventure would only distract a girl of such rambunction for 2-3 moments or less. With that, it is with great gratitude that I went back to sleep for approximately 7 uninterrupted minutes, claiming his day off for my own. With Jim helping with breakfast duty, and three kids who don’t go to school on Tuesdays yet anyway, it is clear that there is no one in this house that appreciates, or benefits more from, a “snow day” than I do.
By 10 am, the number of times I called my husband’s name must have surely surpassed 10,000. It wasn’t even that I wanted anything, necessarily. Maybe it was a pursuit of some sort of married solidarity on a day I normally forgo alone. Some sort of “just look at what they do!” at 8am on a Tuesday when he is otherwise counseling young men to be better individuals and closer to God, surely an indispensable role of encouragement and wisdom that high school boys most definitely need. Here I am waging a spiritual battle of patience and pre-coffee fortitude that needs counseling all its own. It’s just that the level of fix involved in a little partner-up is truly the saving grace of a stay at home mom, like me. As if he has never seen the three-minute begging to end their juice withdrawal, followed by 20 seconds of chugging silence, then the what seems like an intravenous high indicated by barefoot kitchen island laps that inevitably end with someone smashing their face in the come down. Its all just so much more entertaining when Jim is home, so thanks to the Big Man for the weather and the husband.
And since snow days should be had in the snow, like all other days of this winter, the activity before second breakfast involves 45 minutes of dressing in snow gear for approximately 17 minutes of outdoor play. Rita waddles with two boxing like mittens stretched out, her eyes mostly, but barely visible. James, with his snowpants missing, wears purple and is not happy about it. Josie, free as the snowflakes falling, dresses herself and spends most of her time flying down sledding hills face first and with no fear.
Perhaps the best part is that on days like today, the kids only want what Grace has coined the “fun parent.” And I, most certainly, am not that parent.
Snowman? Dad’s got it.
Hold me? No mom, put me down.
Zip me? Would you mind if I asked daddy?
Hey, Dad? What’s for lunch? You making it? Yep!
And with that let me be the only one on the internet to say, “carry on with as much fervor as you like, Winter.”