So… the snow? Well, it will not quit. It just keeps coming down at unholy rates of speed, and it piles up, right smack on our driveway, which is four hundred miles long with a 90-degree grade. Or slope. Or whatever mathematical term you want to use there to imply STEEPEST DRIVEWAY IN THE CUL DE SAC. Ultimately this means that Hubs is outside a few times a day, powering through the drifts with our snow blower on that bobsled run, because… well… he’s the man, and a snow blower is like heavy machinery that makes you smell like gasoline when you’re finished… and because I do the laundry.
(Sometimes. Sometimes I do the laundry.)
Hubs’ mother sent me a text message first thing this morning that said, “I just want to tell you good-bye. I’m moving to Alaska, where it doesn’t really snow.” We know that the weather is balmy way up North, because my dear friend, Katie, lives there, and she’s continually telling me, “It was 40 degrees up here today; we wore our T-shirts outside.” Apparently Alaska and Costa Rica are sharing the same winter temperatures this year, and I’m not jealous of Alaska AT ALL.
Plus, after a full weekend of feeding boys and staying awake all night with boys, and not really showering or even bothering to get out of my pajamas, because SNOW, and WHO CARES?, I decided to do my hair today. I used the flat iron, because that’s what I tend to do when the weather outside is frightful. If I may be so bold, I’ll just tell you that Jennifer Aniston has never experienced hair like the mane I had going on this morning. It was a glorious vision of Hair Glory, after a weekend of I DIDN’T WASH MY HAIR, AND IT’S IN A TOPKNOT ON MY HEAD, WITH HALF OF IT HANGING DOWN THE BACK. (In other words, HOMELESS.)
And then I took my Hair Glory outside, because I actually volunteered to sub in our pre-kindergarten classroom at the school where I teach, because the teacher was going to be gone for a couple of hours to an appointment.
Wet Snowstorm + Winter Wind That Blows Sideways + Windchill That Makes You Cry + Classroom of 4- and 5-Year-Olds = THE END OF THE HAIR GLORY.
Pride goeth before the fall, and my hair fell back to HOMELESS PERSON.
But the high point of subbing today came during indoor recess (which is just a fancy way to say HELL), when two four-year-old girls were laying on their backs in hoola hoops on the floor, with their eyes closed. I went over to them and asked, “Are y’all playing house? Is it bedtime?” One of them opened her eyes, and — I’m not even kidding! — said, “No. We’re playing SUNSHINE. We’re laying in our yard, sunbathing.” And that is when I suddenly wondered what the school board’s take on bringing in a couple of heat lamps and making this a reality in the gym would be. Because those little ladies had the right idea.
Other than the fact that Thing 2 slept CLEAR THROUGH THE NIGHT, and RIGHT UP UNTIL 5:45 AM, with the exception of that twenty-minute stretch between 2:50 and 3:10 that we won’t talk about, where he sang to himself on his bed and then… SWEET GLORY HALLELUJAH!… he went back to sleep all on his own, nothing much exciting has happened today.
But I snapped this picture of our little peanut this morning, right after he poured a box of Cheerios on our kitchen floor:
Which, of course, is why you had to endure a post written about my hair.