Yesterday, our fair city was buried in crystalline seasonal precipitation. In other words...it snowed buttloads. I, with my unfailing faith in the street department, went to bed last night with the presumption that I would awake to "business as usual" this morning. The plow did manage to make it down my street...burying the same poor minivan that my teenage son spent two hours digging out yesterday afternoon. But...gotta give them an "A" for effort.
The hubby, and my infant son, woke me early this morning, as usual. So far, so good. I stumbled downstairs to get the coffeepot going (for me) and mix up a tasty bowl of baby cereal (not for me) and sat down to watch the news. There, on the screen, beneath the freakish perma-grin of the newscasters, was "The Dreaded Blue Bar". I'm sure you know what I'm talking about. It's the little strip at the bottom of the screen where they announce the school delays and cancellations. The little blue strip that means the difference between a peaceful afternoon, and complete and utter chaos.
At first, I kept my cool. After all, it quit snowing pretty early yesterday...so I assumed that everything should be back to normal. The names of schools and businesses began flashing at the bottom of the screen. No...that one's too far north...surely our kid's schools will still be open. No...that one's to the south of us...I'm not going to panic. Oooo...that one's a little close.... The list starts back through the alphabet. After several nail-biting moments, I see that our school district has issued a delay.
"That's not so bad", I think to myself. "The kids will sleep through most of the delay time, and then I can get them out of here before lunch." The list continues to flash. Life goes on. The hubby leaves for work...the baby slobbers on his teddy bear. The blue bar continues to flash.
About ten minutes of peaceful acceptance pass. I begin to notice more and more of the blue bar messages contain the word, "closed". But, I don't stress about it. We live in a big city. Surely our district will remain open. Only the smaller towns around us lack the manpower to get the streets cleared in time. Our schools, although delayed, will still attend later this morning. The thoughts continue to scroll through my mind as the list continues to scroll across the television screen.
Then I see it. As horrific as it is factual: My Area Community Schools -- CLOSED.
Nooooooooooo! It just can't be! Surely there must be some mistake! I watch in disbelief as the list makes full circle. My worst fears are confirmed.
Please wish me luck as I embark on the first Snow Day of this school year. I certainly can use all the luck I can get!
Well, I'm afraid I must go now. The first of my "little angels" are awaking. If you don't hear from me in the next few days, don't hesitate to call the authorities. Just make sure that the press doesn't use any flash photography when they find me in a fetal position beside the water heater with clumps of my own hair (which I most certainly have pulled out in frustration) surrounding me.
Till then, don't eat the yellow snow. ;)
Well, folks, it's just about that time again. I've spent the last couple weeks staring disdainfully at the boxes of Christmas decorations stacked precariously against the back wall of my dining room. Is it wrong to consider changing religions just because you're too lazy to decorate? Perhaps I should have listened more carefully when those frighteningly friendly Jehovah's Witnesses stalked me....er.....I mean visited me last month. I don't remember reading anything in the Watchtower about twinkling icicle lights or giant inflatable snowmen...
Anyway... here I am, trying to think of a really good reason not to shove Santa's little plastic butt back in the closet. Last year we did a wonderful job of decorating. We had everything lit up and sparkly in less than forty-eight hours after Thanksgiving. This year, I lack the motivation. I don't feel like perching on a wobbly ladder for three hours to give the illusion of beautiful icicles illuminating our front yard. If our portly local weatherman would've been more accurate in his recent prediction of a foreboding ice storm... I might have been able to "fake it" by dangling a flashlight out of the window to accentuate the natural sparkle of authentic icicles on my porch. But... I digress...
I have acquired a new found respect for the people who leave their Christmas lights up year round. Sure, it may look a bit absurd to see the unlit cords strewn from window to rafter in the middle of July... but just how hilarious it must be to the casual passersby to see my giant, half-frozen rear end balancing on one foot atop a shaky ladder, threatening a Styrofoam Blitzen in a desperate effort to enhance my home's holiday curb appeal. Those wonderfully intelligent beings who had the forethought to leave their decorations up, now have the "last laugh". They simply dust off a few extension cords and plug everything in. It frees up plenty of time to make hot cocoa (with marshmallows) and watch from their windows... mocking me... as I try to finish my decorating.
Well, my friends, I must go and try to tackle this daunting obstacle so that I may pave the way to holiday bliss. Wish me luck. And, if you need a really good laugh, you can always brew up a thermos of hot cocoa and drive down my street tonight. :)
Well, I managed to make it through Thanksgiving. I even struggled through a week-long menu plan to blast through the abundant leftovers. After surviving turkey casserole, turkey and noodles and turkey "surprise", we'll finally be able to enjoy a meal that didn't previously "gobble". (A big, greasy cheeseburger sounds pretty good right about now...) The cow goes, Mooooo! (Have I been spending too much time playing with the baby's "See 'n' Say"?)
Things have finally got back to normal. (What did you say "normal" was, again?)
The hubby is back at work, the kids (thankfully) back to school. My daily chores have returned as I tackle the perpetual laundry pile. I am again thrust into the elements of the reluctant domestic... left helplessly at the mercy of my needy and unappreciative family. (Did I mention lately, that I love being a mom?)
The baby naps between episodes of "Go Diego, Go" and "Blue's Clues", and I try to finish off my lukewarm cup of coffee between folding a load of towels and mopping the kitchen floor.
I contemplate dragging out the boxes of Christmas decorations, but my sanity returns (along with my tendencies to procrastinate) and I quickly reconsider. Right now, my short term goals include changing the baby's poopy diaper, finding the television remote, and trying to squeeze in a quick shower. (Mama always said I was a dreamer!)
Well, I've donned my most attractive bio-hazard suit, and I've got the diaper wipes in hand... I guess this is goodbye for now. :)
Well, it's that time again. The time of year when tom leaves his hen and little poults (turkey chicks) behind to make his way to our dinner table. Blissfully ignorant as he chows down on feed throughout the summer becoming the perfect specimen for an autumn feast... unaware that the diner shall soon become the dined upon. As he stares down the axe, his little snood quivering in mortal fear, he secretly wishes that he'd scored higher on his SATs and finished business school. Being an accountant would surely be better than this! (Well, maybe.)
Anyway... the turkey will somehow make his way into the roaster, the little giblet bag successfully removed (I hope) and replaced with herb-seasoned breadcrumbs... basted in butter and seasonings. His juicy, delectable goodness will become the centerpiece to a giant feast. He will find himself surrounded by platters of freshly steamed vegetables, piping hot side dishes and sinfully sweet pies and desserts.
I dread the cooking. I normally love to cook, but I find myself intimidated by the massive quantity of food. And, it is mind boggling to plan a meal that is prepared to perfection, and timed in such a way that everything is still hot and delicious when it reaches the plates of our guests.
I'll probably be exhausted before I even get out the first pan. I've been trying to prepare the house for our guests. I've steam-cleaned the carpets... successfully removing wads of bubblegum out of my daughters' bedroom carpet. I've managed to get the long forgotten baby formula stains out of my recliner. I've dusted in the deepest recesses of our home... chasing out "dust bunnies" who thought they would eternally be munching on "dust carrots" while I turned a blind eye. I really don't look forward to this holiday.
And, if the extra cooking and cleaning aren't enough, there's the fact that the ten pounds I just lost are hiding around the corner, giggling and pointing at the areas of my thighs that they plan to resettle. I'll have to stay on the treadmill until Christmas Eve just to break even! (Cursed pie!)
Then I'll have "THE CLEANUP". (Yeah, it's bad enough to rate quotation marks AND capitalization!) Everyone will be finished eating in less than a half hour, and then I'll get to spend about three hours and a half-dozen soapy sinkfuls of water to wash the dishes after scraping the leftovers into an assortment of food storage containers. (Oh, how I despise food storage containers... but that's a topic for a future rant.) And, of course, everyone else will be sitting on the sofa, pants unbuttoned, watching football... Ah...Thanksgiving. (I'm thankful it only comes once a year!)
Well, my friends, I probably won't be posting to my blog until after the holiday. I'll need time to recover. In the meantime, I hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving, shared with family and filled with love. ;)
Somehow, between changing dirty diapers and locating missing math homework, I've managed to find some time to create a blog. Anyone out there who has "more than the average" number of children, can understand what an awesome accomplishment this can be. It ranks right up there with successfully finding the car keys after a heated twenty minute search, just to realize that they were in my hand all along.
When people find out that I have four children, one of the first things they usually ask is, "how do you do it?!" I usually just calmly respond, "well, first, the male sperm cell begins a perilous journey up the fallopian tubes in hot pursuit of the female egg...." But, seriously, it takes a lot of patience, a good sense of humor, and a doctor who's not afraid to prescribe a hefty dose of Valium.
I love my kids, though. They truly enrich my life. They have all inherited my stinging sarcasm and wit. Unfortunately, they have also acquired my lack of self-control, my unfailing tendency to procrastinate, and my total lack of organizational skills. But, they are really great despite their few flaws. I wouldn't change a thing.
I recently celebrated my thirty-fourth birthday. Yay. (note the sarcasm.) Birthdays are just a measure of how much closer I am to single-handedly funding the college education of countless pharmaceutical company stockholder's offspring. One day closer to menopause and Boniva. One week closer to liver spots and Botox. Just seconds away from a Metamucil cocktail and a successfully cleansed colon. I can almost feel myself slipping into a Geritol coma. Ah, yes...birthdays are indeed a reason to celebrate!
Well, I hope you've enjoyed this small introduction... a mere peek into the frazzled mind of "the irritable intellect". I hope you'll visit again. Until then... eat your vegetables. ;)
