Snow Day Musings of a Mom/Teacher
Captain's Log: The 71st Snowpocalypse of 2k19 (a.k.a World's End)
Ready to experience all of the stages of grief?
DENIAL: Working until the 4th of July won't be so bad. June is overrated. Idle hands and all that. Speaking of, I will get so much done at my house today. So much cleaning and organizing and writing and lesson planning. So many checkmarks off my list. Bonus: This time is a gift with my own angel babies. We will do all the quality time things. We will snuggle and read books. We will make cookies and drink cocoa. Brainwave: Let's do all the crafty things that have accumulated in the craft closet. All the paint. All the beads. Messes are beautiful if my cherubs are having fun. Segue way to...3...2...1
ANGER: Resentment builds as I lament whatever I did to deserve my children being gifted a set of roughly 1,000,000 beads. Like why? Did I insult your mother? Did I tailgate you once? Did I shove bamboo chutes under your fingernails? No? Well, then I'm coming for you now. It's on. Also how.in.the.world. can a kid get paint between his toes with socks on? The box said 6+ and my seven-year-old is exhibiting all the fine motor skills of a beached whale. So I end up finishing all the projects because they are bored and can't follow directions. Now my neck hurts.
I notice my tone/rhetoric have shifted since stage 1. I think I literally just screamed the words "turd burglar" at my seven-year-old. Loudly. Like someone may call DHS. I am not proud. But also I am no longer in possession of any rips. The beads are everywhere, and I'm cleaning paint out of toe crevices at 9:45 AM?
Why do we even live where something like a polar vortex can happen? Sayonara suckers...I cannot. It's so dumb. I'm dumb. I would literally burn it all to the literal ground if it wasn't so freaking cold out. But alas, here we are.
BARGAINING: Dear Jesus--Mediator--Savior--take the literal wheel. Deliver me from the evils of this day. I repent of my rage and grumbling spirit. I implore You for peace even if that looks like unhealthy snacks and way too much Paw Patrol. I would literally sell this house and pursue full-time ministry on another [warmer] continent for some quiet. If the answer is millitary school for one or both children, Lord, open the door. I leave it in Your capable hands.
DEPRESSION: It's 1:37 PM, and I am still in the sweatpants I slept in. I can't confirm if I've brushed...anything. Does it matter? Does anything? I am a caged animal. Trapped. I am a terrible person and mother. Why can't I be better at this? What is wrong with me? Note to self: donate brain to science upon demise. Also the sky and ground should not be the same bleak color as my soul. I guess it's time to self-medicate with mindless scrolling through socials to feel even worse about myself as a person and mother. Awesome. [Eyore sigh]
ACCEPTANCE: It's 7:00 PM, and it's still snowing. Hopefully, we will get another snow day tomorrow...