They said it was going to be big. I thought…eh…those weatherman are rarely ever right…how BAD could it be?? Bad. Very Bad. But not because of the butt-ton amount of snow that has landed on the east coast, but because of what it did to my sanity as a parent of two tiny children. I prepared for the milk…the snacks…the BREAD, LAWD WE ALL NEED BREAD…which we have barely touched BTW, but I didn’t prepare for what my brain would do to itself after being inside with a three year old for roughly 72 hours…
Below is the following transition I feel encompasses the last 72 hours of my life…thanks Jonas, for a whole lotta NOTHIN.
- Skepticism: 36 inches you say? I should prepare for to be stuck inside for a long time you say? I say hog wash. You dirty dirty liars. I shall keep all my weekend plans anyways and be prepared for my #snowgolosers hashtag.
- Prepper Prep Mode: Just incase your right oh mighty wizard weathermen…I’ll get 2 gallons of milk at the store…that’s good enough.
- Nervousness: F…what if they’re right? What if theres no school for two weeks (this shiz has already happened….my sons been mocking me saying “NOOOOOOOO” when they cancelled school last Thursday for .25 inches of snow ever since). How am I going to keep them entertained? How much paw patrol will rot his brain? Is 10 hours too much? What if we run out of granola bars? What if the power goes out and I can’t turn on youtube…WHAT IF?!
- Excitement: Oh It’ll be so fun to watch the kids play in the snow and be little eskimos, just think of the pictures!!!…face palm.
- Wavering Excitement:…we’ve already been outside twice, got the photos, watched the movies, ate the snacks, burned the mouth on the hot chocolate…and it’s still snowing…sigh.
- Utter Hatred of Snow Boots: F YOU SNOW BOOTS. F YOU AND YOUR TEENY TINY FOOT HOLES AND EVIL HEEL HATING EXISTENCE.
- Claustrophobia: It’s still snowing…I’m never leaving…is the house getting smaller? Is my throat closing up? IS IT REALLY ONLY 1030 IN THE MORNING?!
- Deep Dark Depression: Id fill my cup with wine at 12:30 if I wasn’t so concerned about the baby trying to snatch it when I wasn’t looking. These are dark days…But keep posting happy, good looking instagrams so people think you’re doing fine and just as chipper as ever.
- Padded Walls Insanity: I’m never getting out of here. The paw patrol song is playing in my ears. The giant bear in the living room is starting to glare at me evilly…is the government watching?! HELP.
- Anger At All Things White:…hate hate hate hate hate hate. Soul crushing white fluffy snow. I find your existence blindingly annoying…seriously…you’re so bright I can’t look outside. BLINDING.
- Anger At School Systems, How Dare You Close: MY ROAD IS CLEAR, TAKE MY CHILD AND TEACH HIM HOW TO BEHAVE LIKE A HUMAN AGAIN.
- Constant Wet Socks From Soupy Melty Snow: Slush means this stuff is going away, and we can go back to the holy land…Chick Fil’A…oh it’s closed cuz the parking lot is not plowed yet?? Go back to phase 8.
In summary. Toddler loved the snow until it was too high that he couldn’t push his lawn mower or walk…apparently he likes the ability to walk. Baby just wants to eat snow and can’t sit up when bundled…but is happy to lay face down in a sled and be pulled like an Egyptian princess or something. Dog just wants to find a place to poop without snow going up it’s butt. Husband is so tired of shoveling he would greatly appreciate a gift card to Message Envy. Me? I just don’t want to see tiny snow boots again…for a month…maybe longer. Oh also, we managed to lose not one but two gloves…not of the same set…double winner.
We survived though. We escaped to the mall today for the toddler to just RUN…RUN RUN RUN LIKE THE WIND BULLSEYE…and I legit feel 50% better just from breathing different air and looking at other peoples faces. The best part is that I still get to watch the bachelor tonight with my wine guzzling friend because both our hoods have been plowed. THANK YOU BACHELOR GODS. BTW, Lauren B is winning.
What did you all do to stay sane? Gimme all your brilliant ideas so I can steal them and my children think I’m smart instead of forcing them to have fun “jumping onto the couch cushions like a ghetto trampoline” for the 600th time.