Diary of a Snow Day


4:30am: Sneak out of bed in hopes of learning that school is cancelled.  No dice.  Return to bed.

6:30am: Sneak out of bed in hopes of learning that school is cancelled.  Do happy dance.  Return to bed.

9:30am: Get up for real.  Thank Jesus for a kid that sleeps until roused.  Drink coffee.  Eat breakfast.  “Like” a teacher friend’s Facebook status about sending her kid to daycare today.  Engage in a moment of panic about the day’s activities.

10am: Put dinner in crockpot.  Call to cancel therapy appointment.  Frolic in snow.  Learn that the preferred method of snow frolicking for seven year old is to find the largest available stick and whack the heck out of snowbanks all over the neighborhood.  Ponder the merits of snow-whacking as therapy.

11am: Make gingerbread playdough.  Play with gingerbread playdough.  Ponder the merits of gingerbread playdough exploration as therapy.

12pm: Eat lunch.  Engage in extensive conversation about oranges, weather, seasons, climate and geography.  Drink more coffee.

12:30pm: Find some beads to extend the gingerbread playdough exploration.  Free parenting tip: If your kid is not in the “eat everything” phase, adding glitter or beads to any activity will buy you an extra hour, easy.

1:30pm: Crucial snow-day nap.  Occupy child by giving her a stack of Christmas books to review for your blog (stay tuned for her picks).

3pm: Parallel play.  Sit in recliner and read while seven year old colors and plays in living room floor.  Marvel at how her attention span and ability to work independently on a task have dramatically improved in the past year.  Give oneself mom-props.

5pm: Take dinner out of crockpot.  Praise Jesus for crockpot.  Eat dinner.  Empathize with lament of today’s missed music class.

5:30pm: Experience sundown surge and vow to accomplish 90 tasks before midnight.  Search for zucchini bread recipe.  Realize that there are no eggs in the house.  Search for eggless zucchini bread recipe.  Cajole unhappy internet browser and abandon search.  Speed-clean craft drawer with seven year old instead.  Then bust out the paints because why not?

7pm: Start wind-down ritual.  Say yes to everything because you’re not in a rush.  Bask in daughter’s comment that “this was, like, the best day ever.”  Give oneself bonus mom-props, write it all down to remember when it is, like, not the best day ever.  Call it a day.

And that, my friends, is how it’s done.

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