Small Town, USA is under a Winter Storm Warning today, after the weathermen got together over coffee, looked at some satellite images, talked about the latest hockey game with the sports guy, and then said to one another, “Dude! We’ve got to upgrade the Winter Storm Watch that we announced a couple of days ago, because that giant funnel of freezing snow is barreling straight for us, like a fat rat after an unattended bag of Fritos.”
Can I tell you how sick I am of winter?
The only good thing about SIX TO TWELVE INCHES OF HEAVY SNOW and WIND GUSTS UP TO 40 MPH and TEMPERATURES OF FIFTEEN DEGREES BELOW ZERO would be a snow day in the school district, but listen: I teach on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. If a snow day happens, it happens on a Thursday or Friday, because apparently the good Lord likes for the little kids to get their PE classes in before school is cancelled from icy streets and deep snow and Arctic temperatures. The snow days and I can never get ourselves on the same calendar.
Our weekend was a typical one for the Jedi Family, which is to say that nothing overly dramatic happened.
On Friday, I finally admitted that we were down to hardly anything to survive on in the house, because we were completely out of toilet paper and Tazo Chai Tea cups for the Keurig. Plus, we were out of other essential items, like food and laundry detergent and toothpaste. We were barely surviving, as we eyed the box of baking soda as a possible alternative to Crest. So… I laid on the grenade. I gathered up my stamina and my focus. I made a grocery list that was so long, it looked more like a phone book than anything else, and then I said a prayer that I’d make it out of Walmart alive, and in I went.
My shopping cart was so full, I looked like I was on the Oregon Trail with a wagon piled high of belongings and lard and fatback.
Ninety minutes into the torture that was my grocery-fetching, Hubs called and asked me what I was doing.
Oh, you know… lying on the sofa, eating bon-bons and watching HGTV. You?
And then Hubs told me that YES, Small Town High was taking on Rival Town in basketball that night, and we could go if I wanted to go, but listen, honey… The Avalanche are skating tonight, and this is kind of a critical game.
In other words, Colorado couldn’t win on the ice unless Hubs was eating a fudge bar and watching them from the comfort of his living room.
Which… you know… FINE! Because after pushing a shopping cart that weighed roughly what a semi-truck hauling six full-sized tractors weighs, and trying to find fruit chewy snacks, because LISTEN, WALMART! DON’T MOVE THE ESSENTIALS LIKE THAT WITHOUT MAILING ME A LETTER, BLESSED WITH A MAP OF ALL THE AISLES AND A BIG, RED ARROW POINTING OUT THIS IS WHERE YOU CAN NOW FIND THE MOTT’S MEDLEYS ARITIFICALLY-FLAVORED FRUIT SNACKS FOR YOUR TODDLER, the last thing I wanted to do was reapply lip gloss, tidy up my hair a bit and go out into polite society.
Or a brawl between Small Town and Rival Town, as it was.
So I brought 700 pounds of groceries into my house, spent forty-eleven hours unpacking all the bags, and then boom! I reheated leftovers in the microwave, and I tried to understand why a game between the Avalanche and the Stars is more exciting than a basketball game between high school rivals, where we can buy hot popcorn for a dollar at the concession stand.
And then I went to bed.
On Saturday morning, I snapped a few pictures of Thing 2, because his days as a two-year-old are very, VERY limited, as the third birthday cannot be held off much longer, and because he’s cute.
I would’ve taken snapshots of the boy, too, but these happened at 7:30 in the morning, and… well… the boy had spent the night at his friend Eli’s house, and I have it on good authority that they were hibernating in sleeping bags at 7:30 Saturday morning, on Eli’s family room floor, completely dead to the world.
But not Thing 2. Hibernation is a term that he doesn’t subscribe to, so Hubs and I took him out early to run errands around town, when normal people were just getting out of bed and brewing their first cup of coffee.
On Saturday night, we went to a big fundraiser and chili dinner for some good friends of ours, who just adopted two little kiddos from Europe. We had so much fun, hanging out with all kinds of friends, and talking until we were nearly hoarse, and…
Thing 2 ate an entire bowl of chili BY. HIMSELF.
Do y’all know how many times Thing 2 has eaten a bowl of slop, where multiple things are mixed together?
That would be NEVER TIMES.
But on Saturday night, the world stood still for fifteen minutes, while Thing 2 hogged down a bowl of chili — hamburger, beans, tomatoes, oyster crackers, and all. It was like a Dinner Victory, because PICKY EATER doesn’t even do our toddler justice.
After the chili dinner, we took the boy to his youth pastor’s house, who was hosting a pizza and movie night for all the junior high kids.
Being fourteen is synonymous with I HAVE A MUCH LARGER SOCIAL LIFE THAN MY PARENTS DO, because the boy’s parents had to come home and watch another Colorado Avalanche game, because it was a critical moment in the lead-up to the playoffs. And really, I shouldn’t lie. Only 50% of the boy’s parents watched this game on TV. The other 50% of his parents sat on the sofa and said, “Why do we have to watch so many hockey games? They’re all the same… game after game after game…” And then the first 50% of the parents said, “How are we even still married?”
I’ll tell you: Love and kisses, and the fact that Hubs kills all the big spiders around here.
On Sunday morning, there was church. The sermon was fantastic, but I kept thinking to myself, “I’m so exhausted, my brain feels shaky.”
Because Shaky Brain is a real thing.
When church wrapped up at 10:30 Sunday morning, I came straight home, walked in the front doors of my house, and flopped onto my bed, where I fell into an instant coma and woke up three hours later.
I still have no idea how it happened. I just laid my head down… and then I was all… “What… ? Where am… ? What… What year is this?”
After blinking a few times and figuring out that it was still 2015, I felt rejuvenated enough to enjoy life again. I’m telling you, raising tiny humans is exhausting.
We took Thing 2 over to the school where I teach, so that he could run wild in the gym. He rode scooters and played basketball, and then he kicked the basketball all over the place, like it was a soccer ball. A heavier soccer ball = more drag = more tired child when it’s all done. At least… in theory that holds up.
And then, we came home, where I made Honey Sriracha Chicken Over Rice for dinner, and I’m not going to lie. Hubs loved it so much, he rose up and called me blessed, and said that it was his new MOST FAVORITE OF EVER dinner.
Since there was no hockey being played on Sunday night, we had a bit of a reprieve, because GLORY, GLORY, HALLELUJAH. So we went to bed early, because that’s what the elderly do.
Or at least it’s what parents who have toddlers who think 4:30 in the morning is an excellent GET UP FOR THE DAY AND DRIVE YOUR PARENTS BAT CRAP CRAZY do.
And now we’re just waiting for this next winter storm to smack us full force across the face, and I’m keeping my fingers crossed that we get a snow day on a Tuesday out of it. Otherwise, it’ll all have been for naught, and I’ll just cry about the delayed arrival of spring.
Merry Monday, y’all.