Snow Day Reality – and Poppers – Hit Home!

BAM! BAM! BAM!

“Hahahaha” shrieks one child

“Oh my GOSH!” shrieks another his voice cracking with puberty. “That was awesome!”

Snow days in reality are very different from my snow day fantasies.

My day began as usual (See A Typical Morning).

I sat alone, a fresh cup of coffee loaded with tons of milk and even more sugar wedged carefully between me and the arm of the couch, a risky move, but I am blissfully alone at this time of the morning and able to achieve amazing balance. I have my Bible and journal perched precariously on just above the coffee mug. I am confident and peaceful during the only time of the day I can sit and not be mom or cook or worker or housekeeper or anything but a Child of God. 

Thoughts of those moments of peace are getting me off track.

No sooner do I begin reading than I see George stumble toward me from the darkened hallway.  George, who usually requires intense begging and pleading to wake, sees the snow outside (only a dusting really) and immediately perks up asking about a two hour-delay.

The last day before Thanksgiving break is a district half day. A two hour delay would mean an hour of school, but the schools would still receive funding; therefore no make up day would be needed. It doesn’t matter that no learning takes place as long as districts get their money, and it means Heaven for a 12 year old!

I told George that school was cancelled, meaning a possible full day make up in the future, and after his brief pout, he began asking if he could go wake up his brothers to tell them.

Why he would want to take his life in his hands by waking his brothers up just to tell them they could go back to sleep is beyond me, and, because I love this little one and wouldn’t want to see what his brothers would do to him if he succeeded in waking them up, I refused to let him.

In an effort to keep him occupied, I tried to find a video a friend had posted to Facebook feeling only slight guilt about using Facebook to babysit my 12-year old; after all, this was MY time, and I would even be reading the Bible during it. The fact that the Bible reading came after the ME time did not occur to me until just now. <GULP> 

I will have to contemplate that with a stroke of humility later.

Of course, I got caught up on Facebook, remembering a post I needed to put out there for my business. And then I remembered another one that also needed to be up. And then I had the genius idea of putting up all the posts needed through December, which makes sense in a way but doesn’t loan itself well to Me Time or Bible reading or 12-year-old distraction techniques.

So I have no idea what happened between George’s disappearance down the hall and Noah also stumbling sleepily out to me.

It was not even 6:00, and Me Time was over. 

How is it possible that all five of my kids, four of whom take dynamite blasts to get out of bed most mornings, are up by 6:30 on a snow day?

Sadly, I asked them as much, which again had George running down the hall. I didn’t know where he had gone, and, truthfully, I didn’t care.

Until he came out with a small box in his hands.

“Mom, you always say we can do these when we have time. We have time today!” He opened up his hand to show the box of Poppers – mini explosion things I had been suckered into buying in a moment of Mom Weakness at a South Carolina Firework Store. 

I tried to tell him they wouldn’t work in the wet, but he insisted. His best friend had done them when it was wet; they’d work! 

I figured he’d see soon enough I was right, so I went to take my shower leaving five boys excitedly plotting to blow up things in the front yard.

Ignoring the little voice in my head, I was beckoned by the steam from the shower and the peaceful sanctuary of the bathroom (I can overlook the toilet seat that was left up, the toothbrushes that seem to multiply overnight, and the toys and empty shampoo bottles that litter the tub floor).

I stay under the hot spray until I can no longer ignore the sound of happily shrieking children penetrating my solitude. I have learned from years of blissfully ignorant stupidity that children who are too quiet or too happy are rarely good children.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

“Hahahaha” shrieks one child.

“Oh my GOSH!” shrieks another his voice cracking with puberty. “That was awesome!”

I dress quickly in whatever outfit will have to suffice for today and race outside to throw open the front door only to stand in stunned silence staring at my little angels.

Ash falls on me from above.

Yes, apparently poppers work – if you throw them hard enough against the dry side of the house.

My boys look at me sheepishly for a second until Troy, as the oldest and the group spokesman, assumes an heir of command. “Look Mom, it doesn’t even leave a mark!” 

Before I can say anything, he pulls him arm back and whips a Popper at a spot just above my head. It explodes on the house behind me and bigger ash floats gently down upon my clean clothes and freshly washed, and rapidly freezing solid, hair. 

His brothers do little to suppress their giggles, and Troy lifts his eyebrows and tilts his head in just the way he knows will make my heart melt.

“See?” he asks having the grace to look just a bit sheepish – or maybe it’s just enough intelligence to know he better do something if he wants to live another day.

I turn and look. Sure enough, no mark.

I have no words and go back inside silently. I finish getting ready leaving a list of things for my boys to do while I am gone, some fun, some not so much. I don’t care really. I just hope to keep them busy enough that they do not blow up the house while I am gone. 

And so, here I sit. Work has been long over, but I sit and write blog posts partially dreading and partially laughingly anticipating what I will return home to.

And, as I pack up and drive home, I will pray that my house is still standing. 🙂

God Bless…