Extended Deep Sea Diving

Snow,
Glorious snow,
No milk at the Acme.

Snow days are the best things in the world! Oh, how I relished that 5:53 A.M. call to tell me that school is closed. That single message opened countless windows of opportunity today. It's amazing how quickly little people will eat breakfast when dusty white crystals beckon from without. As soon as sustenance was inhaled, we prepared for the cold and wet.
Long underwear
Three pairs of socks
Two pairs of pants
Two shirts
Snow pants
Scarves
Hats
Jackets
Mittens

As a child, I recall my mother laying all of these garments on the floor in the order that they must be donned. I vividly recollect her forcing the mittens so far up my arms that my fingers rested in gnarled, unmovable tangles. I am sure today that this explains why my fingers are so short. We wore so many socks that our feet actually fit in the boots (which were always two sizes too large), and then we'd slip our Sasquatch feet into sandwich bags to keep them dry. With baggies on, however, feet slip into boots with lightning speed, nice. My boots were silver moon boots--oh, how I wish I had them now! We'd struggle into the snow pants and put on our jackets, hats, scarves, earmuffs, and whatever else. Then, my mother would put on her jacket, hat, and gloves, and we'd hobble outside wondering why our mother didn't need all the layers and stuffing that we wore. Well, I know now. Packing kids into layers and layers causes one to work up a sweat. The last thing I wanted in the midst of my snow prep hot flash was to put on a jacket. Normally I hate the cold, despise it, but today I embraced it. Hooray for snow!

We went sledding, ate snow and icicles (which is a little frightening because all I could smell was the refinery a couple miles away, so I'm sure there were some fabulously healthy particles in our snow), ran around, and became soaking wet because it's raining. We also played on the swingset. Now, let me tell you, when it's sunny and 85 degrees, I can't get those kids to play on the swingset (which cost a pretty penny), but when it's wet, cold, and snowy, they wanted nothing else. Are you kidding me? It's snow, for crying out loud. Sled in it. Build a snowman. Throw snowballs. Do anything else but play on the swingset. We get the snow only once or twice a year. Enjoy it. The swingset is there every day. Whatever.

So, Bubby has also been expressing himself through art, so let me share with you his "Big, Fat Head."

Mother Nature's Passive Aggression

I've been hoping for snow since January 5th, which was the day we returned to school from vacation. I think you can understand my reasoning. When I was a kid, we thought the teachers became angry when we had snow days, but now that I'm a teacher (and still a kid at heart), I know better. There is a chance of snow this week, which should get me all in a twitter (if you can picture me in a twitter), but the bitter irony is that it will likely cause the cancellation of my daughter's skating party, the one thing for which I've planned since October. Grrr. This, I truly believe, is Mother Nature showing her passive aggressive side. "Oh, you want snow? Well, here you go. Hope it makes you happy."

Strangers and Weirdos

Poor Bubby has an ear infection, but the good news is that he and I had an enlightening conversation in the car on the way to the doctor's office. He informed me that he should stay away from strangers. Then, he told me he asked Daddy if he should also stay away from weirdos. I am impressed with three-year-old Bubby's capability to subcategorize and classify, and of course, that he now knows he should keep a great distance from all deranged persons, be they the simple stranger or the complex weirdo.

What the Artists Really Mean

We continued along in Mockingbird today, and Jem has found an invisible chest hair. Of course, this is a little comic relief around the court case and the conviction, but the comic relief in the classroom was of a far different tone. Never, in the countless times that I have read the book, did I ever interpret that scene in any perverted sense, but judging from the unusual laughter in the back of the room, I knew something was awry. Upon brief interrogation, the boys (8th grade, mind you), quite hesitantly directed my attention to the page. Well, wouldn't ya know they thought Jem had shown his sister an entirely different kind of hair. Gee willikers. All I could do was sigh and giggle a little to myself because that was so NOT Harper Lee's intent.

On an entirely different note, all of these years of our media's attention to Andrew Wyeth have taught me nothing. He passed away this morning, and when I read the headline, I thought to myself, "Well, hasn't he been dead for about twenty years?" Apparently not. Then, I thought, "He was a man of incredible talent, and some local typo-filled newspaper reporter is covering his life?" Couldn't he at least be dignified by praise from a legitimate writer? Then, I thought, "Why aren't I a legitimate writer?" Grrrrrr! Frustration. I simply do not want to be just a mother, a housekeeper, a teacher, a drama coach, and a tutor. I want to make a substantial literary contribution to the world, but the irony is that I can't even find the right words to describe what I want to do. Ugh.

So here's a little Wyeth for you:

I think it's breathtaking. I want to leave a breathtaking mark, but right now, there's a bunch of 8th graders who will remember me as the teacher who explained how outhouses work and why Jem wouldn't be showing his sister THAT kind of hair. Sigh. Oh, and I made them learn grammar.

An Ode to Moon Sand

Oh, Santa, how could you?
Against Mom's express wishes, you brought it
You left it, wrapped prettily under the tree
Hours of fun, guaranteed
Building castles, dragons, princesses, and treasures
Butterflies, frogs, fish, and bears
And sure as can be
For every twenty minutes of play
Follow hours of fun
Watching Mom
Cleaning that smooth, beautiful sand
From the carpet, the chairs, the floorboards, the clothes
For now everything is covered with a fine, grainy coat
But wait, there's more
Don't let it go down the drain
For it will conquer and destroy
The septic system
And Blendy Pens?
Really, now, Santa
You've lost a few bolts
Haven't you?