The neighbors’ empty pigpen
I felt at loose ends all day yesterday. As a childless adult, snow days were like heaven. My introverted nature rejoices when the most sensible course of action is to curl up in a blanket with a project work work on and something yummy to enjoy. My girls love a good snuggle and a story, but yesterday they were having none of it. They’d been exhorting me to “play, mama!” since the snow started right around breakfast. And despite a loving willingness to do so, I found myself battling some serious internal conflict, wandering from room to room without accomplishing anything as I forced myself to squelch this sense that the only right thing to do on a day such as we had is hunker down and embrace the silence. The non-existent silence.
We made it through dinner and baths, and then ten o’clock rolled around and it was still snowing. I found myself sipping a glass of syrah and eating mini marshmallows by the handful. My two-year-old was on the couch (“Mama, my brain says it’s not going to sleep.”), and her big sister was calling from the bedroom that she couldn’t sleep alone. I had plans last night that didn’t involve the toddler set. Got a babysitter and everything, but with the buckets of snow being dropped on us faster than it could be cleared, the event was rescheduled.
It’s ironic how you can make the conscious choice to live more simply, to plunk yourself down way out in the country and be perfectly content about it, but when the isolation becomes forced rather than voluntary (too much snow, bum vehicle), you bounce off the walls. It’s made me antsy and irritable, and since the bitter cold is making snow play no fun, the girls are full of energy and beginning to pick at each other. Not a great combination.
So. I am taking naptime to regroup. I rearranged the kitchen counters, and wiped all the crumbs out from under the toaster. We found evidence of mice in the dishtowel drawer last weekend, so everything was removed and washed while traps were set, and then all the linens sat in a heap by the coffeepot for days on end; no more. The floor is swept, the miscellaneous papers are recycled, and I am preparing myself for another evening in.
We’ve been doing a lot of making. Last week it was Giant Ginger Cookies, a most delicious kind of making. Crunchy edges, chewy centers. We shared some with neighbors and grandparents, but the rest were gobbled so quickly I didn’t even get a photo. Valentine production has been ongoing, one set popped into the mail as another is begun. Mama did most of the cutting for that project, but Beans has been practicing her scissor usage so I’ve been sweeping a lot.
There is more snow coming, both tomorrow and Sunday, so I’m sure that more making will be on the agenda. Muffins this time, I think. I’ll have backup this weekend as J and the girls head to the Daddy/Daughter Dance so perhaps I’ll get to hunker down in a blanket after all.
2 thoughts on “snow day”
Love your writing style and I anxiously await the next one
I’ve been there. February is hard. When I had little, little kids I felt my frustration with another day stuck indoors zing through my veins. It’s not like that for me anymore, because our routine is so much busier with one in school and skating. I see grownups more. The kids get to interact with other people. It gets easier. But I remember how hard February used to be. “The days are long but the years are short” is so, so true when it comes to being home every day with little people!