The other day I found a hair. A long one. On my knee. At first I thought it was just a hair from my head that stuck to my leg in the shower. Nope, that thing was attached. Be aware that when I say a long one, I mean that sucker could have been braided if only it would have had friends close by. This one hair made my mind start to wonder; How in the hell does one miss the same hair for months? How? The same reason I can’t take a good poop without having to stop halfway through. The same reason my hair needs to be colored, but isn’t. The same reason my house looks like a colony of monkeys live here. Because I have kids and they’ve been home for days, that’s why.
I have been trapped in a snowy hell for days. DAYS. I am sure that somewhere around here I have some funny lying around, but in all honesty I think my kids have sucked that well dry, kind of like my boobs. I can’t possibly stomach another game of Guess Who or another episode of Dinosaur Train. I also cannot bear to listen to myself tell my kids to stop fighting with each other. To keep their hands to themselves. To say excuse me when they rip a big burp or gag me with a fart. These unexpected long breaks are painful. So much so that the government could use it as a form of torture. You want someone to talk, lock them in a house with young children for days with minimal provisions. They would break in a matter of hours. It is so different from a scheduled break because of the lack of preparation time, the scramble to stock up on “provisions”, or maybe it is just the fact that there is. no. escape.
The first day, everyone is so excited. HEY LOOK! SNOW! Get out the gloves/boots/hats/scarves/five-hundred pairs of pants, and listen to the squeals of delight. It fills your heart with rainbows and unicorns and you are so glad that they got a few extra hours to play in it. You don’t mind the piles of wet gloves and the constant requests for hot chocolate.
Day two brings constant snowfall. Trapped. Here is where things go downhill, and quickly. See if any of this sounds familiar:
- MOM! He took my blanket!
- MOOOOOOMMMMMM, she farted on me!
- But MOOOOOMMMMM, I don’t WANT to watch that!
- But MOM! He touched me!
- Can we have a snack? I’m still hungry, can I have something else to eat? I’m HONGRY MOM!
- Mom, can we go outside? <10 minutes later> Man! It’s cold outside, we are coming in!
- Hey PITA, put down that frozen milk jug and put some clothes on before you freeze your wiener off! (What? You’ve never said that?)
One would think that living in the middle of Kansas in the winter that I would be better prepared for such occurrences. Well, one would be wrong. I don’t keep a file of lesson plans for snowy days. I don’t keep a well-stocked craft closet. I suppose that would be because I don’t enjoy “crafting”, but it is mainly because the thought of giving young kids scissors and glue gives me heart palpitations. “Hey MOM, look at my pretty new haircut!” . “Hey Mom, why do they call it a HOT glue gun? AHHHHHHHHHH MY EYE!!!!!” “Don’t you love our new wallpaper mom? I used all the colors that you love!”
I’m not afraid to be honest with you all. The wine helps. I’m not talking about dousing myself in it every night, just a glass or two (some days three). It doesn’t make me a bad mom nor does it make me an alcoholic. It makes me real. For some it may not be wine, it may be food or pharmaceuticals or vodka or a nice hot bath mixed with wine and cookies or running away to Mexico to enjoy sunshine and drinks served by a handsome cabana boy by the pool. Sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do to help you relax at the end of the day. It doesn’t make us bad parents to enjoy a glass of wine or a couple of cookies or a nice hot bath. Running away to Mexico, maybe, but only if you never return.
I don’t really know where the long knee hair and snow days are connected, hell I don’t really know where I was going with this entire post, but I do know that sometimes we screw up and we miss things. Things that we may look back on and laugh about later, but also some things that we don’t want to look back on and be sad that we overlooked. We bitch and moan about having our kids home for extended periods of time. In all reality though, somewhere deep down (WAAAAY deep down) we enjoy these moments. While at the time we don’t enjoy the puddles of melted snow in the dining room and the endless games of tag in the house. We cuss under our breath about the extra loads of laundry and the constant requests to play on some sort of electronic device while munching on handfuls of popcorn. We know that these moments are passing ever so quickly. That we should treasure them. That we should enjoy them. That someday we will miss them. For now though we will laugh at our long hairs, poop when we can, and enjoy that glass of wine while watching our kids play in the cold. While working on our passports from the window.
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