Okay, today I suck at being a mom. I blame it on the snow. Yes, to the great, everlasting delight of my children, it snowed. No. Wait. What am I saying? It snowed? It is STILL snowing. It keeps teasing us. Light sprinkles, heavier falls, tapering off, a momentary cessation and then it begins all over again... and that is why I suck at this whole mothering thing. I bet you are lost. Bet you can't figure out what in heaven's name I am on about, hmm? I will explain:
I started the day with the best of intentions -- I was working on (1)another post on the pitiful state of our country's protection of fundamental rights and human courtesies (i.e. the whole mess with T.S.A) and (2)math problems for several Co-ops. I also dragged my sons off to a doctor's appointment and on a shopping excursion for proper winter gear. (You would be justified in asking why I had left the latter until now, in the face of a looming winter storm. All I can say is... ummmm?) We did succeed in securing winter coats, boots, socks hats and gloves for the boys and for Dad. By the time all of that was accomplished, we were all tired and the boys were getting truly desperate to be home and out in the wintry whiteness. "Mom,' they pleaded, 'if we don't get home soon, it'll all be gone!' Driving into a blizzard, on slick icy roads, feeling the wheels slip and skid beneath me, I was rather doubtful about this but I was in general agreement about the need to be home so I left the argument alone.
Most of the return journey was uneventful... until we got to our own little lane, that is. As I began to slow to make the turn onto our private road, the brakes locked up. The mini van cursed protestingly and slid painfully to a halt about a foot beyond the road. I backed us up. Luckily there was no one to dispute my right to do so. Then I turned the van and realized with a sinking heart that the road to our house was comprised of two hills and several turns. We slid gracefully down the first hill, swanning to the right with little effort and my sons were very pleased with the ride. Then we reached the second, longer hill, the one with wooded areas on either side and I said a private little prayer to whomever it is who keeps me going. We started down. The silver beast locked its brakes in protest against the ice and squealed in rage. The back wheels spun a bit and I adjusted the steering wheel, trying to baby the grumpy van into keeping us on the road just a bit more. Then we were on level ground and heading toward the house. Thank you, thank you, whomever you are! The boys, oblivious to their mother's nerves, begged to be allowed to jump from the moving car, to run over icy ground, through snow and ice back to the house. Their mother, not ready to surrender completely to insanity, insisted on stopping the car. Here, however, I began my slide into failure -- with a car packed to the gills with winter clothing, I allowed my lightly dressed sons to leap from the car (they were in tee shirts, jeans, cotton socks and rubber wading boots) and run through 32 degree weather, snow pelting their red faces while snow balls, collected in frozen fingers, hit retreating backs.
When the car was parked, I played Mom briefly, insisting that they help me unload. And briefly, only too briefly, the lure of the 'new' enticed them into wearing the coats, boots, and winter gloves. Jason, the elder, dug out an old plastic tabogen, and practiced surfing the drive way. He spent more time falling off of it than actually riding it so I suggested he move it to the raised mound between our property and that of our neighbor next door. Though the ride was better in some sense, Jason decided that the driveway was better. The mysteries of boyhood continue to elude me.
After awhile, the boys came in -- watched a bit of 'Fawlty Towers', did some school work (Piano practice, reading, math and art), drank Hot cider and then... and here is where I fell completely off the wagon... went back out to play. They went back out in short sleeved shirts, jeans, winter gloves and boots... and no coats. The youngest was wearing his hat but don't be confused. With Xander the hat is a fashion statement, not an article of warmth. I was muttering darkly about having gone to the trouble and the expense of procuring warm winter garments for them and Xander, very gently, patted my arm and explained 'They are very lovely, mommy. And we did wear them. But if we don't hurry the snow will go away and I don't really like being so bulky.' Big brown eyes blinked up at me. I looked at him and at his elder brother's sterner, rather less conciliatory face and remembered how it felt to be a child in bulky winter coats... with the snow, that precious whiteness, that first precious whiteness right outside the door. So I opened the door and let them go. Really, what else could I do? "If you love something, let it go...' Bless you, my children. Have fun. Life is precious and Time is short. Go live, go laugh, go play. I love you.
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