It snowed last week. I lived in Minnesota for 18 years – a place where your nostrils stick together if you breathe too deeply, and your eyeballs freeze if you’re outside too long – so I’m not one of the crazies who gets all excited about the snow.
But about once or twice a year it taunts me.
The depth of my selfishness revealed itself during the snow week. I couldn’t even muster enough excitement for the sake of the children.
“Come play in the snow, mom!”
“No.”
Fortunately, we have a neighborhood full of play mates, so my presence was not requested often. But still. Would it have killed me?
(I think it might have.)
But I more than made up for it as the Queen of Hot Cocoa and Indoor Entertainment. Name your game consol, we’ve got it.
My big win for the week was that I didn’t lose my mind. I was in the middle of writing a script with a deadline on Friday, and it was not at all convenient to have the kids home from school.
Historically when Things don’t go According to Plan, I end up going Momageddon on the kids. But thankfully I’m 40 now because that behavior is sooooooo 39.
Thomas wanted to say goodnight to the snowman he built in the park.
