Skip to main content

Anatomy of a Snow Day in the South


Day 0: I heard it might snow!! I feverishly tell my kids, who whoop for joy. I immediately go to Costco, Publix and the wine shop. Not even in that order. That night, I'm so excited I have trouble sleeping.

Day 1:

Morning: Wake up to a winter wonderland. School is canceled. Yay!! Throw on two pairs of pants, a sweater and my rain boots. Freeze my ass off but don't care because we are having so much fun!

Afternoon: First fight breaks out among the kids over mitten ownership. Have to google medical information on how best to treat chapped cheeks. Can barely feel my feet, due to mild frostbite from running around in plastic shoes that have zero insulation.

Night: Knock back my evening cocktail like my life depended upon it. Rinse and repeat.

Day 2: Unbelievably, the girls who normally have to be pried out of bed with a crowbar in order to make it to school in time have woken up at 5:30 in the morning and are downstairs fighting over who gets the last of the Special K. The fact that there is another full box in the cupboard is, somehow, irrelevant. Curious.

The 5 year old is exhausted from playing in the snow yesterday and has peed about 10 gallons in his bed. The laundry room was already brimming with super absorbent clothes that are inappropriate for snow (but were worn anyway because it’s all we have). Perfect. Massive amounts of time are spent not making a dent in the laundry.

Day 3:

Morning: Playing outside has lost its panache because all of the snow has grown a crust of inch-thick ice that hurts to fall on and will literally cut you if you touch it wrong. This is bad news for the parents who might actually need to accomplish something beyond resolving the never ending disputes over which kid left her sopping wet scarf on the floor.

"It wasn't ME, Mom. It was HER. I know this because I left MINE upstairs behind my bed where we won't find it for months so you and my doctor can worry and wonder if there is a mold infestation in our house because my allergies don't seem to go away."

Afternoon: I see the following quote on Facebook, "five asses in the house, you're stranded for three days with two rolls of toilet paper, you do the math." I think this is hilariously funny until it occurs to me that I, too, have five asses in the house yet have absolutely NO idea how much toilet paper we have. Panic ensues.
Evening: The countdown to happy hour began before lunch was digested. The school just announced that there will be no school tomorrow, either.
Oh my holy hell.

PS I have absolutely why this post switches up the font. I've spent tons of time* trying to fix it and blogger won't let me. It keeps accepting my change but keeping the funky font. So I've officially decided to say FUCK IT and let the weird font stay.

*By "tons of time" I mean almost a few minutes.

Labels:

Comments

Unknown said…
I was wondering if you fell off the face of earth. It has been a while
7:03 PM
Bex said…
Hey, Jason! I actually did fall off of the earth for a while there...but I'm back. I've started a company...still have several kids milling about, not to mention the occasional husband. It's good times chez moi.
9:38 PM
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

And The Winner Is...

I have some very exciting news. For the first time ever the Blog of Bex is giving out an award . Yes, I know. I can feel my heart pounding, too. I will call it the Bite My Ass Award (BMAA) and I'm sure it will be coveted. Now you might be wondering just who will be the lucky recipient. Could it be Diesel, the mastermind of Humor-Blogs and Mattress Police , who - for reasons unknown to me - revamped the scoring system and and reset my score to zero? Nope. This action has actually mysteriously seemed to work in my favor. I'm sure it's temporary. ANYWAY, on to the big news. I hereby give my BMAA to this guy: Handsome little fucker, isn't he? His name is James Jackson, IV and his friends call him Jay. I like to call him Fucktard because I believe that your name should say something about the kind of guy you are. And he's a total fucktard. What, you may wonder, did he do to generate such ire from me? Well I'm so glad you asked. He owns two boutiques in suburban At...
23 comments
Read more

Pervy McPervert strikes again!

When I was a kid I used to make the occasional prank call. But then I turned 13 and decided that it was a fairly retarded way to spend ones time. I've also received a few "heavy breathing" calls in my day. My mom finally bought us a whistle and said that whenever "he" called that we were to blow the whistle as loud as we could into the phone. That worked although I do wish she had specified that before blowing the whistle I should take the receiver away from my head as my ear made this weird ringing noise for days afterward. But it got rid of the pervert. It's a new day, however, and perverts must be looking for new ways to annoy us. Twice today someone has texted a picture to me. I have no idea who he is or what the hell he wants. But he must think that I don't know that sometimes shirtless men squeeze their arms against their chest to give the appearance that they actually have biceps when, in fact, their arms really look like toothpicks that are broke...
23 comments
Read more

Protesting at Funerals: A Look at the Deranged and Demented

I normally like to write about funny things. (At least they are things that I find funny.) They are usually attempts to be funny in a ha-ha kind of way, although sometimes I will throw in something that's funny in a weird way, just to shake things up. But what I want to write about now isn't funny at all. It is shocking and horrific. There was a girl from my home town who was murdered at Auburn University last week. Her name was Lauren Burk and she was 18. She went to our local high school and although I didn't know her many of my friends children did. She's being buried today. Her family is, naturally, heartbroken. It was a random, tragic and violent attack. That's really bad enough. My husband drove by the funeral home yesterday and noticed that there was a small army of Harley Davidson riders holding American flags. They appeared to be guarding the memorial service. It turns out that they were asked to be there to protect the family because a group called the We...
17 comments
Read more