Mother Nature, I know you must have a sense of humor, why else would you threaten a major snow storm the day my children are supposed to return to school from Winter Break. It’s been a lovely break. I love my children. But, for the love of god, please don’t cancel school on Friday.
Because, I just can’t have them at home any longer. We’ve had all our adventures, watched all our movies, had all our fun. I’ve got nothing left. That’s it I’m done. I want my life back.
I want to eat lunch. Not snag a cookie on the way out the door, not eat their leftovers, not forget my lunch on the counter for three hours. I want to drink a whole cup of coffee… while it’s still hot.
I want to get out of the house without arguing about what coat needs to be worn and if we have to go NOW. And I want to leave without repeating, “put on your shoes, put on your shoes, put on your shoes.” To the response of, “Why do you always need to yell?” Because I want you to, “PUT… ON… YOUR… SHOES!”
And if I learn one more fact about Pokemon, I might cry. I don’t need to know what Squirtel evolves to. I just don’t. I don’t want to know whether Zoroark can beat Blazikan. I’m less of a competent adult because I know these things. I woke up this morning with the theme song in my head. Gotta catch ’em all!
I want my house back. The third floor of my home has begun to resemble the Lord of the Flies. There’s a tent. The floor’s covered with paper, art supplies, stuffed animals, and clothes. They might have lit a campfire up there last night, I’m not sure. The sign at the bottom of the stairs says, “No Adults Allowed” And, I’m not going to be the one to find out what happens if I break that rule.
I don’t know what day it is any longer. I really don’t. I’m in this strange Groundhog Day loop. I wake up, I make cereal, I yell, I make lunch, I yell, I make dinner. The only way I track the days now is by Kathy Lee and Hoda and my knitting. All the days swirl to together into a maelstrom of Legos and holiday cookies and wine. Lots of wine.
So, please Snow Gods, for me and the health of my children, don’t cancel school on Friday. Let those children leave the house. Let me put on pants. I can’t make any promises otherwise.
P.S. As I complete writing this the City of Boston has cancelled school. Forty eight hours in advance. Before a flake of snow has fallen. To this I say, “QUITTERS.” For this, in June, I promise to sit on the beach while you care for my children. So there!!