Domenica says....

Domenica of our local NBC affiliate reports that our next "snow event" will start on Tuesday as snow, perhaps changing over to a "wintry mix" on Wednesday.  It doesn't appear to be a "Nor'easter" this time, or a "clipper."  I haven't heard the word "Snowmaggedon" either, for which I am grateful.  Mostly because I don't know how to spell "Snowmaggedon."

This winter's weather in the Northeast has generated a lot of press, primarily, I suppose, because we need something to complain about in every season.  Last summer was sweltering here in the hood, but I, for one, didn't complain, because I am very happy when I'm in heat.  I mean, when it's hot outside.

Thing 2, of course, is thrilled whenever he hears "the possibility of snow" because it might mean a snow day, delayed opening or early dismissal from school.  At this point, he should place all his bets on a delayed opening or early dismissal, as our district is already one day in the red as far as snow days go.  Which means that he will need to "give back" a day from President's weekend or spring vacation.  This works out well for me, especially since it will give me more time to plan out our President's Day shindig, including animatronic models of the Presidents, with a special appearance by a depressed Abraham Lincoln with Marfan's syndrome.

Admittedly, I still get a little frisson of excitement when I hear that the schools are closed for snow, many, many years after this announcement could possibly benefit me personally.  I have visions of snuggling up with a cup of hot cocoa in front of the fire (in our case, in front of the exploding toaster oven), reading the classics out loud with my Thing 2 and feeling as though we are the only ones in a white and silent world. 

The reality is that the phone will ring at 5:08 a.m. with the announcement that schools are closed and I will lay there for an hour with my eyes wide open trying to squelch my panic attack.  At 6, Thing 2 will bound into my room, jump on my head (scattering the cats) and announce that he is "bored."  As I fumble for my Xanax, I sweetly suggest that he go outside and play. 

I understand that there are many different novel and creative activities that children can engage in to stay busy out in the snow.  But at our house, at least now, basketball is not one of them.