A half an inch of ice my rear end…We have nearly three inches, and it’s not melting. At least, not fast enough for my liking.
You know those times when you REALLY want to see some beautiful white covering the ground during the holidays, so you can feel all “holiday-ish”? I feel more like Scrooge than an elf clicking his heels together as the season of Christmas draws near.
We haven’t gotten mail in two days.
I have no newspaper to read.
My kids are driving me nuts.
I’m tired of cooking.
The laundry is done. There is nothing else to wash, even the dog’s sweater smells like lilacs on a warm summer day.
I have learned to play SkyRim on XBOX 360…and I don’t even like XBOX. Don’t even ask me what the point of SkyRim is because I’m convinced there isn’t one.
I may sell my youngest child on eBay if we are still cooped up in this house tomorrow.
Yes, I have written like any good author should when he or she is stuck in the house. But you can only keep your creative juices flowing for so long as your children beg for something to eat, drink, do, fold, demolish, sled on or hit…
I’ve watched The Hobbit, Men In Black, Source Code, and countless episodes of International Living on HGTV. I want to move to New Zealand and live in tree house on a hill for the low price of 1.8 million. Let me know if you’d like to fund my move.
I have hang nails the size of orange peels thanks to the cold, dry air. I have hands of a carpenter. Gorgeous.
I’m tired of homemade pumpkin lentil soup. It was great on Friday. Today it makes me nauseous. I want a 4,000 calorie cheeseburger and fries from a drive thru window.
I simply want to DRIVE.
Ice play for my youngest has gone from sledding on Friday to dragging his entire body across the icy driveway today. When I went outside to ask him what he was doing, thinking he was hurt, he said he was teaching himself to “body sled”. His pants and gloves are soaked, but he refuses to come in. At least he is entertained…
I’ve rearranged the ornaments on the tree. Twice. For no good reason other than to keep from having a Clark W. Griswold moment…
Conversations with my children have become completely monotonous and annoying over the past four days. I love my kids, at this point, more than a cheap bottle of wine from Aldi that was meant for decoration but I decided to drink since I’m out of Dr. Pepper…
Last Friday ~
Little A: “Can we go sledding outside, Mommy? Isn’t the white beautiful?”
Me: “Yes, let’s go sledding! Here are your gloves, sweetheart! Now let me go find the sled in the attic. Meet you outside!”
Little A: “Is the ice melting? The temperature says 31, so it’s still below freezing. Do you think it will melt today though? Do you, do you, doooo yooouuuu? Can I have the stale half of a cookie I found in the pantry behind the empty bag of chips Middle A put back on the shelf because he’s too lazy to throw it away?”
Me: “Whatever. Eat the cookie. I wish the ice would melt. Please go find something to do.”
It’s amazing that when we are STUCK in the house, we are unmotivated and can’t find a darn thing to do. NOTHING.
Yet when we choose to stay home, we reorganize closets, dust the baseboards, paint murals and build a shed in the backyard for no good reason.
Little A: “Can you tell me what I can go do? I’m bored.”
Me: You bet I can tell you what to go do…”I don’t know, go play Legos or something. Watch a movie. Play Jenga. Pet the dog…”
Little A: “I don’t want to do any of that.” <—Said while lying on the ground, face first, hands outstretched like an annoying toddler…except he’s 9.
Me: “Then I don’t know what to tell you. Use your imagination.”
Little A: “What’s imaginotation?”
Me: “Never mind.”
Little A: “Never mind, what?”
Me: “Why don’t you go see what your brothers are doing. Maybe they’ll do something with you.”
Little A: “I don’t want to play with them. They say they are too old for “playing”. They say they “hang out” not play.”
Me: “Then go “hang out” with them.”
Little A: “Big A told me I was too young to do that, so he told me to come ask you what to do.” He picks his nose.
Me: “Do you need a Kleenex?”
Little A: “No.” <—While wiping said booger on his sleeve.
Me: “Glad we’ve got that covered…”
Little A: “Got what covered? The ground is still covered in ice. Is that what you mean, Mommy?”
He turns around and runs away. I give it twelve minutes before he’s back. I’ve never been so ready to grocery shop in all my life! Or even go and get gas…sounds like a freakin’ dream…
Stir crazy and utterly unamused with the ice anymore,