As Detroit is in an uproar over Snowmageddon 2014, I sit alone and watch the local news. I am waiting for the snowfall updates and while I wait, I chew on my tongue. The children ran about the house last night, completing their bizarre list of tricks to ensure a snow day—wearing the pajamas inside out, putting a spoon on the windowsill and a green crayon under their pillow. I laughed feebly—early signs of denial, I was afraid to show my weakness.
Only when Chuck Gaidica, the weatherman says the dreaded words: WINTER STORM WARNING, do I start to feel the first tell-tale signs of the “condition”. It begins with a tic and shuffle, a shuddering sense that something really really bad is coming and not even my careful arrangement of Trolls, voo-doo dolls and other sundry charms can save me. I call it SNOW DAY PARALYSIS and it is debilitating.
The menacing words: SCHOOL CLOSINGS flutter across the bottom of the television screen and when I see the name of our district, the tic in my eye gets worse and I feel for my coffee cup.
I hate you, Chuck Gaidica. I hate you and your perfect hair.
Well. It doesn’t matter. Nothing can save me now. I venture out of the bedroom and hear the cheers coming from downstairs. They know. The cheers are followed up by the hushed sounds of them gathering together–the six of them. They are planning something. I hear papers being unfurled and markers being gathered. The sound of schematics being created.
It doesn’t look good for me.
I’m still holding my coffee cup as I slip downstairs twenty minutes later, as though it can protect me from whatever madness awaits. Things are distressingly quiet. Frighteningly quiet.
I walk into the living room and even I can’t comprehend what I see. So I do what every blog writing mom of 4 children and 2 step-children would do.
I video tape it and post it to Youtube.
Furby Sacrifice (YOUTUBE VIDEO)
And then I lock myself in the closet, with my trolls and my charms and my coffee cup to wait for the snow plow or spring. Whichever comes first.