The Uncivilized Tundra

It's been Happy New Year for nine days now.

And Happy Snowed In for nearly that long, I think. That part of my mind that records the regular passage of time has sort of slipped off its track a bit.

Who was it that wasn't ready for Christmas break to be over?
Oh yes, that was me.
For the most part, I have enjoyed this little house-bound spell with the aftermath of a blizzard.  The first couple of days I ventured out to the barn to do the kids' chores because it was my chance to play Arctic Explorer meets Dr. Zhivago. Plus, I found a ski mask that made me feel like a hot criminal. Not really. I mean, yes, I found a ski mask, but no, I didn't feel hot. Just regular criminal.

Poor frozen Norah holds a poor frozen bird.  Willa thought we should save it for decoration.

Somewhere along the way, we discovered that we had a formerly frozen pipe. It was easy to pinpoint the location as we had a mini waterfall wake us in the middle of the night.

After we had sopped up the flood and reburied ourselves beneath a pile of scratchy wool blankets and heavy comforters, the Man of the House remarked, "I guess I'll call [the plumber who I hope doesn't have the Internets] tomorrow."
I didn't respond verbally. Lack of communication usually means I'm dead, as I have a genetic ability to carry on my half of a conversation (and a portion of your share too) in my sleep. But this time my words were simply frozen with shock.
"Someone else in our house? An outsider? A non-relative? A repair man?!?" [These are my un-voiced thoughts. You can tell because they're in italics.]
"So maybe you could clean up the basement a little. So he can get to the things he needs to," my escaping-from-the-house-returning-to-work-the-next-day-husband continued.

"The basement? That part of our house that I pretend doesn't exist?" 

Hesitantly, I cleared my throat. 

"Well, why would he have to go to the basement?  The leak is up here, in our bedroom." 

"In fact, the leak is behind our bed. The other part of our house that I have intentionally forgotten." 

"Because he has to get to the [element of household equipment whose name I can't remember because it lives in the basement.] So maybe just clear a path to that."

 Now this [plumber who I hope doesn't have the Internets] is a very nice man. Middle-bordering-old aged, small, quiet, unassuming, extremely nice. He's so nice that I feel uncomfortable with my personality when I'm around him. I feel uncomfortable with my personality when I just think about him from a safe distance.
I also get the feeling that he probably lives in a very clean house, with a basement that could be mistaken for living space.

I do not live in a very clean house. I live with five children, all of whom seem decidedly anti-clean.  During this period of snowed-innishness, my facebook friends  (those true sources of encouragement and fellowship) have been neatly divided into two categories:
1. All [hashtag] snowed-in so we'll make snow-related crafts, create food out of snow, play snowman charades, bake snowman shaped cookies and cinnamon rolls, and in many other ways entertain our children with meaningful, engaging activities.
2. All [hashtag] snowed-in so I'm cleaning my house from top-to-bottom.

 In other words, I need new facebook friends. Ones that fit into my category:
1. [no hashtag] Snowed-in with five children so I'm compulsively eating. And hiding.

I gave my children siblings so that I wouldn't have to entertain them myself. And I don't clean so much as pick up messes, which is usually the precursor to cleaning. In my case, it's just the precursor to picking up more messes.  But threatened by the "sometime this afternoon" arrival of the painfully nice [plumber who I hope doesn't have the Internets], I cleaned. And then I entertained my children all by myself.

I didn't exactly clean as if I were expecting guests, because guests come to the civilized places: living room, dining room, kitchen and (when no one is looking) bathroom.  Repair persons seek out the uncivilized places: basements and behind bedroom furniture. It's not that I wouldn't like to bring civilization to those places, but I feel as though we must provide a habitat for spiders and dust bunnies. They were here before we were. We're visitors in their environment.

With total lack of compassion for the spider and [dust] bunny ecology, I dusted out the space behind our bed and sorted out the things hiding beneath. The sorting was a bonus, because I'm fairly sure none of the heating pipes tunnel under the floorboards.  The bonus sorting revealed that I have a lot of shoes.  I wouldn't say I have a shoe buying problem, just a shoe throwing away problem.
With similar regardless-ness, I cleared a path to where I think the [plumber who I hope doesn't have the Internets] will have to visit in the basement. Of course, I didn't do anything about the stored toys that the snowed-in children had discovered and strewn about the cellar. I just concentrated my efforts on the room where the furnace and its friends live.  Which means I found myself sorting mason jars in the middle of the afternoon.

Once I had brought a small semblence of order to these hidden places of our house, the children and I ventured out on the frozen pond so they could play Arctic explorer (no Dr. Zhivago yet) and not make more messes.  I am a teensy bit nervous around frozen ponds, not just for the slip-and-slide factor, but for the break-through-the-ice-and-drown factor.  But it turns out that prolonged periods of well-below freezing temperatures freezes more than birds.  Willa was a little concerned about the "freeze bite" she'd heard about on the radio, but everyone returned inside with all their fingers and toes intact.

I like to think those frozen bubbles are from the fishes' New Years Eve celebrations.

After all that effort, plus some more that I don't remember, Mr. [plumber who I hope doesn't have the Internets] never showed up. So unless I provide further non-sibling entertainment, or introduce them to Dr. Zhivago, my snowed-in children will find these new places to scatter puzzle pieces, Lego sets and baby doll paraphernalia: around the furnace and behind my bed.

Winter Backyard Wonderland

I couldn't handle another round of indoor tag today, so I insisted that our Physically Educating segment take place in the snow.   The only problem was that I made this declaration in GNotSuchABaby's presence.  She was not going to be left out again.

Very serious about this first expedition into snow play.

There's lots to do, even if there isn't enough snow for a fort, snow people, or sled pulling.

Digging in the ice left by a dripping garden hose.  We prepare well for winter.

Since this is his favorite cat, I'd hate to see him playing with the ones he doesn't like so much.

I made them all group together for a picture.

Immediately after enjoying a nice healthy scarf snack, Weston returned to frozen gardening. Sam turned to Norah with an enticing, "Let's pretend we're Americans fighting Germans in World War 2!"

She was all over that idea.
I am raising my children right. (I hope.) Of course, when I was growing up, we pretended that we were oppressed Jews running away and hiding from Germans, not fighting.  I can't decide which role play is better, but there is no doubt that snow enhances both situations.
The little sisters were left to fend for them{bundled-up}selves.  When I saw the protective way that Willa was guiding Ginger around the yard, my icy heart cracked with warm feelings of good cheer.

Were there ever such adorable sisters? I mean, since my sisters and I grew up?

Mood Swing Much?

Today I played with my kids. 
True story.

19^°F

High

Snow Shower  

Chance of Snow: 50%

It was too cold to send them outdoors for the scheduled 30 minutes of recess/physical education/run-around-screaming-until-you're-worn-out-enough-to-listen-to-your-afternoon-lessons.  I would have felt guilty staying  in the relative warmth of the house while I sent my young'ns in such frigid air, even if they do have a barn for shelter.  Of course, I didn't really want to give up said warmth, relative or not, so I kept them in.

We played tag for 30 minutes.
Yes. We ran in the house.
Yes. I participated.
Yes, I actually enjoyed myself.  In fact, I laughed until I cried just a little. A plus? I grew warm enough to shrug off my cardigan, a nearly unheard of occurrence in this house. It was a pretty intense game of tag, covering all four levels of our house and a rather fluid set of rules.
I felt like one of those fun moms from a different blog.
Then it was time to get back to the serious part of school (i.e., Math).  I was the only one ready to be settle down.
So I yelled at those pesky kids.
I didn't use any bad words, but I certainly displayed my irritation.
Math makes me cold. I had to heat up some coffee and search out my discarded sweater. (Found on a kitchen chair.)
I'm pretty sure moms on other blogs don't follow a truly fun bonding experience with screaming over non-essentials.  Maybe I would have felt less guilty if I'd just let them out in the freezing temperatures.  Maybe.

Maybe I'll make it up to them with some free pie at the bakery. Can National Pie Day rescue my children from my emotional fluctuations?  Does anyone else think that the American Pie Council sounds like a humanitarian aid organization with more calories?

Too Young

I was going to write about the lovely colors around me this season, about the contrast of freshly-painted barn against the blue sky, the muted colors of a rainy fall day, the shiny hard orange of so many pumpkins...

But just as I started typing a distraught three year old flung herself upon my lap.  "The boys say I'm too young to do it!"  The new box of Legos (an 8 year old's favorite birthday present) has just been opened.  She is too young for it.  I gently try to explain, while at the same time loving that she fits so perfectly between the keyboard and me.

Will picking out a picture for mommy's post mollify her?  It is hard to be too young  for stuff, I know.  I think I'm too young for this mothering gig, but...

Here's the picture she chose:

Cute little cousin friends. It's nice to be around someone who doesn't think you're too little to play.

What do you know? She chose a picture that showcases the beautiful fall weather we enjoyed for so much of October.  Looking at this picture makes this rainy day a little better for several reasons:
1. I am not watching anyone play soccer right now, but sitting in my big, dry house smelling the homemade beef & vegetable stew simmering on the stove.

2. Remember? We have had a nice fall.

3. I love my nephews (and nieces!).