Let it snow, but let us know

Remember when you were young, and you woke up and saw snow on the ground and you screamed you were so excited? Well, I woke up this morning, there was snow on the ground, and I screamed, but not because I was excited. I'm officially old.

The kids' schools' policy is that they do whatever Washington D.C. does with regards to weather related closings. So I check the radio and Washington D.C. is two hours late. Soooo, I wait two hours and take the kids to school......only to see a note taped to the door saying that the school was closed due to the weather.

So, let me get this straight. I was under the impression that the whole point of weather related closings was to keep people off the roads. But instead, we have to drive the kids to school and then drive them home again because the weather is too bad. I was also under the impression that if there's someone in the school to pin up a note on the outside of the door, then there's someone inside the school who I pay to take care of my children on a daily basis. I'm already there. At least one teacher is already there. My kids are already there. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?

But alas, no.

I end up at home with the kids, with my phone pressed against my head for 3 hours worth of conference calls. Now, to be fair, the kids played wonderfully inside and outside today. My conference calls didn't go so well. Perhaps because every minute or so, I'd have someone under 4 feet coming over to me and saying one of the following things "I'm hungry!" "Can you play with me?" and my personal favorite "Mommy! I farted!"

Good stuff.

Busted!

My children have this strange idea that they miss out on all sorts of fun once they go to bed. I can't for the life of me figure out where they got this notion. I mean, it's not like they've woken up and caught me watching their beloved TV, surrounded by halloween candy wrappers, playing around on the internet.......more than twice.

And I'm a repeat offender, this morning, my son came upstairs with a ziplock bag that used to contain a gingerbread man. Now, in my defense, this gingerbread man had been completely neglected since well before Christmas, so, really, I was doing that cookie a favor. I mean, we'd destroyed his house a long time ago, and eaten the rest of his family. He was the last of his kind. So it was an act of mercy, to eat him, and his gumdrop buttons, after dipping him headfirst in camomille tea.

So my son comes upstairs, and points out, correctly, that the gingerbread man is gone, that the bag he was in was on the couch (next to the remote). I agree that yes, that appears to be the bag that once contained a gingerbread man. He states that he helped make the gingerbread man for Christmas. I agree with that version of the facts too. Then, he turns to me, points at me with one hand, while holding the bag in the other, and with a gleem in his eye that would make Columbo proud he asks, "Did you eat the gingerbread man?"

I cracked under the pressure, confessing everything, throwing myself on the mercy of the cookie court. My son then switched from prosecution to judge and jury. "YOU make more, tomorrow. For ME to eat."

I've been sentenced to Man 1, Gingerbread Man 1 that is...

A Mommunist Hero for the New Year

Every mommunist nation creates and celebrates larger than life heroes to increase morale and instill their citizens with passion to work for a higher purpose. This past week, I may have found a candidate. Here's to real heroes, and the triumph of good over evil, in battles big and small.