How to get through another stupid snow day

5:45 a.m. Stumble downstairs and stand in front of television set watching school names scroll by while computer boots up.

Alternate holding your breath with offering up several prayers of the trade-off "I promise not to/if" variety while you wait for your children's schools' names. (I would think about that apostrophe placement a little harder, but - and not to wreck the surprise or anything - I have two kids at home wanting stuff, like food, and playdates with other snow-covered children, so I can't focus.)

See the relevant names scroll past.

Wipe tears from your eyes, and check the computer listing.

Just in case.

Sob quietly when - surprise, surprise - they're there, too.

Debate in your head waking them up at their usual time "so they stay on schedule" because if you're suffering so should they or letting them sleep to spare yourself the extra hour of kids underfoot wanting things, like food and playdates with snow-covered friends.

5:48 Go back to bed and hide under covers.

5:59-6:10 a.m. Fail to fall back asleep against the rising tide of "What will I do with them today?" and "What the heck am I supposed to feed them?" and oh, my heck, "ALL DAY?!" "Really?" questions.

6:15 a.m. Decide to go work out as a stress management preventive thing because wine is not an acceptable beverage at 6:15 a.m.

7:30 a.m. Boy wakes up. Hear the footsteps as he comes looking for you.

See his feet from your hiding place under the bed.

"Mom?" he inquires, heading off downstairs. Breathe a sigh of relief, then become seized by worry about whether you've properly hidden the matches, and anyway, there are quite a few gross things under this bed.

Decide to be a grown up and start your unpaid day job, arguing with Boy over proper amounts of TV consumption.

10 a.m. Debate in your head waking up Girl. On the one hand, it is so darn peaceful if she's asleep. On the other, well, why does SHE get to sleep?

10:02 a.m. Send Boy in to do the job.

10:03 a.m. Savor the screams for a bit.

10:03:30 a.m. Until they get annoying.

10:04 a.m. Add your own to the mix, warning everyone to JUST BE QUIET!

10:05 a.m. Realize that you stupidly let them get up - and now have nothing to do with them. Begin hyperventilating. Tell yourself to Pull yourself together, woman! It's just a day! You can get through it. You will even helpfully whip up a blog post to help others get through theirs.

10:08 a.m. Realize it is 10 a.m. and Dog has not even been out to pee yet. And you're the only one there to take him. Also? That you're the only one home to shovel out the snow, too.

While all that sinks in, realize you're going to have to go dig up the snow clothes so the kids can all play outside. For 3 minutes before they get cold and come in, leaving wet clothes and boots strewn all over the entryway. For 2 minutes before they get bored and ask if they can have a friend over to play outside with. For 5 minutes before they ALL come in and drop their wet clothes all over the floor and ask that perennial question: "CAN WE WATCH TV?!"

Decide taking dog to pee is easier than having to contend with the whole "who to call" thing, and what will you feed THEM, anyway, since you haven't been to the store, and have nothing but leftovers and junk you can feed your own kids, but not someone else's.( At least not if you don't want them to talk about you behind your back at the next PTO meeting.) Tell your kids you're off to pee the dog.

"Dad took him," you're told by Boy.

Hope rises. "How do you know?"

"I saw footprints and yellow snow."

Pat yourself on the back for what a great job you've done raising your child: not only did he observe the small details of life, but thought to inform you of them in a helpful way. What a great kid!

Until you realize he probably lying.

Go look out window for footprints. See none. Wonder if the yellow snow is old yellow snow. Spend valuable time in which your dog could be peeing trying to track down your husband at work to see if the dog needs to go out or not.

"Did you pee him?" you ask, when you finally find him.

"No. Of course not. I brushed off your car, though."

Well that's helpful, honey. SINCE I'M NOT GOING ANYWHWERE!!!!

Bundle up to take dog pee. Advise him repeatedly he better get it all out now, 'cuz we aren't coming back out for awhile.

Go back in, take off wet garments, dry off dog, start pile of wet crap on floor that is going to bug you all day long.

Come face-to-face with two unbreakfasted kids looking at you expectantly. Buy time by going to wash hands. Find yourself hyperventilating again.

Begin negotiations over going sledding. Explain to children that outdoor crap in snow is in Man's parental contract, not yours. You just cook. This nonsense of digging up snow clothes and driving to the hill and standing there in the snow and cold is not really your cup of tea. (Probably not Man's either, but you don't care about that. He didn't even pee the dog, for cryin' out loud!)

Realize you are not going to win the negotiations and call Man back to find out where the heck the snow clothes are. And does he think maybe he can come home early?

Realize you have no idea how you're going to get through this day, and had no business promising relief to others.

In fact, wish me luck, wouldja? It's a looooonnnnnng way till 5 and wine, from here.

Well, make it 4:45.

It is, after all, a snow day.

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The folks over at humor-blogs probably live somewhere good and snow-free, like Florida.

I had a dream once, too, ya' know

One of my biggest pet peeves (and admittedly, there are quite a few. Just ask Man, who claims my grave should read: "We have a new rule") is the overuse and abuse of the whole I had a dream thing. You know what? It was an important speech, with an important message. It just seems disrespectful to use it to sell coffee or hand lotion.

That pet peeve is closely tied with another dream-related one: that of people telling you their dreams. Not like MLK did, of course. I mean the kind of dreams people have when they're asleep. (Particularly when said people are 8 years old, and the dreams involve longwinded, convoluted stories about Pokemon that make you want to gouge out your eyes with the knife you're using to spread too-cold peanut butter onto bread for their school lunch), but really anyone's dream will do.)

I tell you all this because in my head that somehow will negate the fact I am about to violate both rules to tell you about a dream I had.

It was a weird dream, but heck, I needed a blog post I think it says something important. Like that I am, apparently, willing to sacrifice my principles at the drop of a hat.

It was a couple of days ago, so I am already foggy on the details (which makes the story EVEN better), but for some reason I was going to a job interview at, of all places, Macy's. The job involved organizing something or someone. And I thought, heck, I am great at bossing people around and keeping schedules, so even though the whole shopping thing isn't really, exactly my thing, I'll just go and see what happens.

When the time came for me to get dressed and go, I did what I usually do when forced to face an outfit change, and decided that what I had on was good enough. In my defense, I live in an old drafty Victorian that I refuse to heat because it just seems wasteful, and so taking off clothes in January is usually an extreme sport, and one in which I'm not willing to engage. So off I went to this interview, wearing...

flip flops.

Except that then I remembered I had stored some real shoes in my locker at the supermarket, which was conveniently located under the Macy's.

But when I got there, the locker was empty! My shoes were STOLEN! Can you believe it?!

So I started to go to the interview in my flip flops. BUT THEN? My jacket, which was pink (Now I don't know about you, but I don't normally wear a whole lot of pink, especially not to an interview. I came of age at a time when, to get a job, women felt like they had to dress like a man, complete with shoulder pads a mile wide.

Perhaps it was to counter all the big hair. )

Big hair, shoulder pads, 1989, first newspaper job. That day's assignment: bimbo pose for lottery story that someone else got to write.

In my dream, the jacket I was wearing for my interview - with my flip flops - was one of those gorgeous Jackie O ones, with the wide collar. I don't know what they're called, but there is one on this great sweater Jane made. Ain't it purty?

In any case, back in my dream, the pink jacket began to unravel. From the neck down. Quickly. And so I was left clutching scraps of fabric against my chest to cover up, and fled in my flip flops, looking something like a crab scuttling away, trying to keep everything in place. Well, if a crab had boobs it needed to hide from the public at Macy's.

What?

Oh, yeah. Hm. I see your point. OK. Exactly like a crab, then.

Anyway, I ended up throwing in the towel on the whole interview thing, and going home. The rest of the dream is kinda fuzzy now and boring, involving deep thoughts about just what the heck I was doing with my life if I couldn't even get it together to get dressed for a job interview.

But the point of it is that, when I went to dig up the big hair picture to show y'all what exactly I meant, I found an even worse outfit:
Same newspaper job, circa 1989. That day's assignment: Bimbo pose for article on shopping at thrift stores that someone else got to write.
Still and all, as bad as it was, at least I was 22. Ah, to be 22 again. You forget that even gross clothes and nasty-ass hair can't hide the amazing lack of wrinkles.

Of course, some things, even being 22 can't fix:
YIKES!

Oh well. You know what was worse, though? The day they put us (there were two of us, women-folk, back in the day) into a Mercedes convertible for a story (that someone else got to write) on PICKING UP GUYS at the beach.



We've come a long way, baby!

Said the housewife.

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The folks over at humor-blogs never compromised their principles for a job, but say thank goodness Playboy apparently never came around or who knows what she would have done for her dream?! And why is she leaving us to tie up all the loose ends and make the connections here? Is she in a hurry to get to the grocery store or something? Is the washing machine exploding? Is she late for a meeting? We just don't get her point, here. She's all over the place in this one. And she thinks the Pokemon dreams are bad. Dear Lord!

A Housewife's New Year's Resolutions

I tried hard to have some deep, deep thoughts about what I should accomplish this year.

It took me a while.

There was so much to think about. This blog, for starters. What the heck is it anyway? It's embarrassing how I can't keep up with the bling-y aspects. Even Blogger.com is sending me emails saying, "Look, you loser. This place could be waaaay better. Do you even know how to operate a camera? Why aren't you using Flickr and Twitter and all the other pretty stuff we give you?" And the writing. Maybe I should commit to something, have a plan. Say, oh, two times a week, and figure out a way to handle comments. Decide to drive around the U.S. of A. to meet readers. I don't know: Something cooler.

But then I remembered, "Oh, yeah! I'm not actually getting paid to blog, and so spending more time thinking about it really only gets in the way of Thing I'm Supposed to Be Thinking About No. 2, which is coming up with something more exciting to say when people ask me "And what do you do?" than "Uh.... Nothing, hee hee hee. Have another cookie. Don't trip over that skate."

And so I spent some time thinking about that. But it turns out that 12 years of having your soul sucked right out of you doesn't leave you with enough energy, wits or stamina to figure out how to get out from under the laundry, let alone develop a major life plan that you are able to convince yourself you can actually do.

So you know what? I tossed out the deep thought plan.

There is no shame in it. It was weighing me down and causing me to be even more neurotic than I already am.  If you could see my head, you would know: It's really dark and scary in there. Don't make me go back!

But I have a new plan: SHALLOW thoughts for the coming year. I figured I could manage a couple o' those for all the people - Hi, Dad! - who've been waiting so patiently.  And here they are:

Mad Mad's Resolutions for the Coming Already-Started But Still New-ish Year:

1. This year, I will scrape the dog boogers off the window BEFORE the Garden Club meeting, and not after serving the egg salad sandwiches.

(Speaking of Garden Club, I will remember to sign up for bagel duty next Christmas, too, because apparently no one eats carbs any more, and thus you can bring home the entire batch untouched, and recycle them for church coffee hour the next day, where Wow! Ditto! and then send them off to school teacher luncheon Monday before throwing them away, still largely untouched, shaking your head about waste and starving people in India. (Wait-wait-wait. Are people still starving in India or did we find a new country? I think they're all set in India now, aren't they? I'll have to ask next time I call customer service about my microwave.))

2. I will stop trying to trick my kids into thinking I've used regular sandwich bread by flipping the butt ends toward the inside and hoping they won't notice, all because I just couldn't stomach a trip to the grocery store.

3. Speaking of those fiery pits of hell, I will recognize that convincing myself to get to the supermarket by telling myself the Necco candy hearts might be out already is really only setting myself up for failure in my attempt to lose the five ten pounds gained over the holidays from consuming too much food wine.

4. I will promise that in my next life, I will have real job BEFORE my child wears the same shoe size. (I'll still not let her wear my shoes, though. So she should not even ask. Especially while we're still in this life.)

5. I will work harder at getting it through to my kids that a rousing debate over whether it is better to be a poo or some pee - complete with gory instances of each - is not appropriate dinner table conversation. Especially not when we have guests.

6. I will stop testing whether I have become allergic to cats and just accept that when one leaves the animal shelter covered in hives and gasping for air, it's probably time to finally put away the litter box that has been sitting on one's stair landing, catless, (but happily, poo-less as well, which is not something I can say for the one in the basement...) for two years.

7. I will stop bragging about how great it is that both my dog and my son - back when he was still crawling - play(ed) ball by themselves. Dog will bounce the ball and catch it over and over and over, and it reminds me of when Boy would throw it and crawl after it. And throw it and crawl after it. I will recognize that the widened eyes are not shorthand for How cute! but instead for What was that number for Department of Social Services? And that a story comparing my son to a dog does nothing for my son. Or my dog, if truth be told.

8. I will stop trying to teach people to knit in odd circumstances. The particular low this year came when I tried to teach an acquaintance to knit AS I DROPPED HER OFF IN FRONT OF THE HOSPITAL FOR HER CHEMO TREATMENT.

"No really, you can do it. It will make the chemo more fun."

(OK, no. I don't know that I actually said that. But each night as I'm trying to fall asleep and I replay all the stupid things I've ever done - What, you don't do that!? -  that's how I imagine it.)

9. I will try to be kinder to myself, and let things like No. 8 go. 

Because really? I'm not wrong: It would make the chemo more fun, darn it.

On second thought, perhaps all this is a lot to expect of me. I forgot, after all, if I'm busy with all that, who is going to do the laundry? So I think maybe I'll just go check out the soaps, instead. 

And where'd I leave those bonbons?

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The folks over at humor-blogs are thrilled I got that planning over with and can continue with the regularly scheduled psychosis programming.

If Martha Stewart and Mommie Dearest could have had a love child...

It would, apparently, be me.

Boy, upon noticing the groceries still on the counter when he got home (there were blog posts to not write, after all), had this to say:

"You bought pretzels? And we're not even having a party?!  WOWIE -WOW-WOW!"

Puh-lease.

Like I'd ever serve pretzels at a party.

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The folks over at humor-blogs would say I was missing the point. And possibly a few marbles.

Oh, that river in Egypt

Ahhhhh, denial.

If only my resolve were as firm as my conviction that this much yarn was absolutely, definitely going to be enough to finish 15 more rows of scarf:

Twisted Vine Neckwarmer

It wasn't:


Oh well.





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The folks over at humor-blogs are wondering just why I'm talking about knitting so much. Weren't my New Year's resolutions supposed to be in today?

Sock it to me

You know you might be too knitting-obsessed something has gone very, very wrong when you have to put your life on hold to handwash your socks.

And you think that's completely normal.

Eh. Might as well wait till this one's ready, too. Noro Sock. Not as itchy as you'd think. (Hm. You just know they're gonna contact me about using that as a logo.)

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The folks over at humor-blogs wear machine-washable socks. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Snow more on the deep, deep thoughts

OK. So this time I was totally ready.

The fridge was stocked. The laundry done, the house cleaned.

The deep, deep thoughts and I were going to spend the day together. All by ourselves.

Until we weren't:

Snow Day.



So anyway, ix-nay on the deep thoughts day.

Part of me thinks maybe God is trying to tell me something. Maybe he's all like, Hey, you, down there! Yeah, YOU, the annoying one. Enough already! You're just a housewife. Get OVER it all ready. I have more important things to do here than listen to your whining!

But part of me thinks Monday might be a better day.

Well, let's say Tuesday to be on the safe side. Yeah. Tuesday at the latest. That's not too bad, right?

Deep, deep thoughts on the New Year

There I was, the laundry all done, all set to have some deep thoughts about my future and 2009, when I realized...



We have no food.

(Or laundry detergent.)

So... yeah.

The deep thoughts will happen tomorrow.

For sure.

Almost certainly.

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The folks over at humor-blogs will notice that, yes, we DO have four different types of peanut butter in the fridge. You got a problem with that?

A Housewife's New Year

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Whew! Thank God they're gone and that nonsense is over with!

I apologize for being possibly the only blogger left worldwide to not have contributed her New Year's resolutions to the greater blogsophere. In fact, Blogger just made me sign on, password and everything, like I was some kind of weirdo stranger or something. I didn't actually even remember my password....

I do take some comfort from the fact that even Oprah is five days late starting her Best Life. I mean, if Oprah can't get there on time, who am I to argue with her calendar?

Anyway, I know y'all think I'm a slacker, but it's different when you're a mom and there are people around. It's kinda like Bring Your Kids and husband To Work Day and all anyone wants is multiple trips to the snack machine. And oh, by the way, did you get a present for my teacher? And bake cookies for the party that will take place during the one hour I am actually at school before you need to pick me up and drive me three towns over to a party celebrating the end of school? And do I have an outfit for Christmas yet? And by the way, these shoes? No way do they fit. Am I old enough for heels? Has anyone done any laundry?

For 14 days in a row.

Maybe it was 15. Or 200. I don't remember any more.

So I do apologize, but it is really hard to have deep thoughts about the clean slate of a New Year when you have all that, plus have to step over ice hockey equipment and ski clothes and suitcases and gift return piles of things that didn't fit were really too stupid to even discuss, but I'm sorry, NO, a game of Pente is NOT on any woman's wish list. Really. I'm not kidding. And running clothes? Seriously. C'mon. Wasn't there a yarn store anywhere?!

I need a clean (empty!) house before I can have deep thoughts about whether THIS will be the year I finally send out that resume What resume, you big liar?! or don't let myself get overwhelmed and discouraged by the fact that $25 for a piece it took hours to write is really too stupid to even bother with sending in in the first place. Or whether THIS will be the year I decide what it is I want to do with my life, and stop messing around on Blogger reading about the lives of people who have one already and on Ravelry finding new things to knit.

It it time to get on with my life.

So today, now that they are all gone, I will think some deep, deep thoughts. And then I will get right back to you about my plans for the coming year.

First, though, there is a little of this to vacuum:

and a little of that to put away:





Some ski clothes to wash, fold and put back in these bins so I can get them out of the hallway and back in the attic where they belong:



Some other stuff to wash and fold:



Some wine to drink:



But right after all that. Yep. I'll sit right down and cry figure out my life.

Shouldn't take long at all.

Nope.

In the meantime:



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The folks over at humor-blogs probably have their resolutions already taken care of.