We had a snow day today - which is sort of silly, given that 2/3 of my school aged children only have to manage to reach the living room to do school and thanks be to God, snow has never yet stopped them - but what I mean is that Tre's school was closed, and I declared it a snow day in solidarity. Or something like that. I just couldn't bring myself to make them work during the first really good snow of the winter, when every other kid in the neighborhood was out there frolicking.
So they bundled up and went out to play. I puttered inside, cleaning and tidying and baking banana bread (now with baking soda for 100% less FAIL), and helped kids on/off/on/off with their snow gear. I was feeling pretty accomplished and smug until I looked around and saw that the kids were all back inside, creating a total morass of snow pants, boots, soggy gloves, melted snow puddles, and board games that Sophia had pulled out of a cupboard and scattered. Wow.
So anyhow, today was a cozy sort of day, and I achieved absolutely nothing (other than banana bread, which really shouldn't be that big of a deal). And so I thought I would share with you a few of my random snow-day-thoughts. They are free. And nearly worth it.
I think I should write a book, detailing my flawless plan for maintaining order in the home. I shall call it, And Why, Exactly, is There a Jenga Piece in the Bathtub?
When I was a teen I read a book, wherein some aliens came to Earth and connected everyone's brain, to make the human race into this enormous, cooperative organism. In the book the humans used this new ability to defeat the evil aliens who were trying to enslave humanity, drawing on the vast wealth of experience and understanding available in this new, massive hive-mind. Once upon a time I imagined that the Internet might, in some small way, provide humanity with the same sort of combined mental richness. Instead, what it seems to provide is the sure knowledge that whatever you do, for whatever reason you can imagine, somewhere in the world someone thinks you are absolutely, completely, reprehensibly WRONG. And stupid. And they have studies to back them up.
I have eaten NONE of my children's Halloween candy. Not one morsel. This is for two reasons: A) it offends me that that size of candy bar is called "fun size." I have HAD fun, sir, and let me assure you, YOU are not the size of fun. And B) I do not wish to be any more fat. Sheesh. So I decided that it is easier to completely abstain than to try to negotiate a reasonable portion of pawed-through candy from the bottom of a pillowcase. And it is, it really is. 99% of the time I am content with my choice or not even aware of the many calories in chocolate that are available to me. The remaining 1% of the time I am completely soaked in resentment and possibly eating marshmallows out of the cupboards. So. There is still progress to be made.
Tre took Sophia outside and patiently carried her around, since the snow was about as deep as her legs are long. She was completely blown away by the fact that snow was EVERYWHERE and kept shaking her head and saying, "Silly snow!" When they came back in, she promptly pulled off her mittens and I remembered that there is very little in this world that is as cute as a pink-cheeked toddler, immobilized by snow pants, and amazed with the whole snowy world.
(Those are Raphael's bare toes behind her, and you can just see that he is swooping in to bestow a kiss on her head. Poor neglected 4th child.)