The snowfall has begun. Giant, feathery flakes drift down from the darkened sky as Phil and I peer from a lamp lit window, smiling at each other and whispering as if to safeguard this moment of wintry magic. Soon the holly bushes, the brick walkway, the old stone stairs leading up to the arbor are all blanketed. Phil moves on to light a fire in the master bedroom while I linger at the glass, a smile playing on my lips as I imagine fawns and wood elves creeping from their hidden realms to wonder at this divine moment bestowed unto humanity.
Monday, 10 January 2011
The day dawns to 5 or 6 inches of snow draped across the whole of metro Atlanta and flurries mixed with sleet still coming down. Schools are closed, Phil will be working from home and we enjoy a leisurely family breakfast of warm oatmeal with brown sugar, milk and hot tea as we watch the birds flock to our feeders.
Phil decides to seize the moment - he has time to play in the snow before his first conference call of the day - so the house is suddenly buzzing as we rush around looking for coats and boots. Elsbeth becomes deeply distressed when, despite our most sincere efforts, we cannot locate her favorite pink hat. Finally the boys rush ahead to the back yard and I wrestle our little diva into Andrew's outgrown fleece hat and drop her into the snow.
For a handful of minutes she's mesmerized by her surrounding wonderland. Andrew laughs and runs in wild circles around the yard as I pelt him with snowballs, and Phil and I are delighted to discover that we can make real, honest-to-goodness snowmen.
Els decides to reconsider her contentment.
We play a bit longer, ignoring the light sleet pelting our faces for the joy of frolicking. Finally Phil must retreat to the quiet upstairs to work and Elsbeth concludes that the has been plunged into a Siberian inferno and becomes hysterical until she is carried inside and freed from her frosty trappings, and then for an additional ten minutes just to make sure she'd made her point.
Fortunately, Phil was able to sneak in a mid-day break to build Andrew a stupendous snow slide.
Tuesday, 11 January 2011
Our sleepy eyes feast on another scene worthy of a Christmas card, much unchanged from the day before except that the top 2 inches of snow have now turned to ice. The roads are even more treacherous, but we're safe and warm inside, grateful to still have water and electricity.
Phil holes up with his computer once again, and the kids and I stave off boredom with hot chocolate, popcorn and the first Toy Story movie.
With no hope of things melting any time soon, Phil decides to take the garden shovel to our driveway. Andrew throws on his coat and boats and makes the most of the icy slope with a cookie sheet.
Wednesday, 12 January 2011
I wake up to the radio news: Tractor trailer flipped on an interstate ramp, accidents generously sprinkled about the city, schools still closed. Anything that dripped for a few hours on Tuesday had stubbornly re-frozen during the night with no intention of puddling again. Phil, uninspired to shower, shuffles off with hair askew to boot up the computer while I (also unbathed) kiss little faces and answer their energetic question of, "What are we going to do today, Mommy?!" with a weary shrug of my shoulders.
Phil kindly breaks from his typing and scrolling to hang some fantastic, old family portraits his parents gave me for Christmas, blood trickling from his left hand as he put his tools away. Great, great, great grandmother Elizabeth fought back.
The only other excitement of the day was discovering that our washing machine has a cracked drum which has been dripping for some time and rotting our hardwood floors.
We're out of milk, bread, eggs and dangerously close to the bottom of our Christmas candy.
Wednesday, 12 January 2011
I wake up to the radio news: Tractor trailer flipped on an interstate ramp, accidents generously sprinkled about the city, schools still closed. Anything that dripped for a few hours on Tuesday had stubbornly re-frozen during the night with no intention of puddling again. Phil, uninspired to shower, shuffles off with hair askew to boot up the computer while I (also unbathed) kiss little faces and answer their energetic question of, "What are we going to do today, Mommy?!" with a weary shrug of my shoulders.
Phil kindly breaks from his typing and scrolling to hang some fantastic, old family portraits his parents gave me for Christmas, blood trickling from his left hand as he put his tools away. Great, great, great grandmother Elizabeth fought back.
The only other excitement of the day was discovering that our washing machine has a cracked drum which has been dripping for some time and rotting our hardwood floors.
We're out of milk, bread, eggs and dangerously close to the bottom of our Christmas candy.
Thursday, 13 January 2011
I wake up. Good for me. Everything looks the same. Schools still closed. In a wild burst of animation, I shower and dress ... but by the time I realize that this one act has depleted my stores of lucidity, it's a done deal. The kids chew slowly on dry cereal as Phil packs his suitcase ... he leaves at noon to seek out a more life-sustaining land, calling home with reports of ice patches throughout the neighborhood ... he barely escaped our tundra with his life.
I stare blankly into the bowels of the bare refrigerator as my stomach rumbles. Children wail in the background while Little Richard's voice howling "Itsy Bitsy Spider" blares, adding to my instability.
What was I doing? Oh yes, food. I must feed my children. I must be strong. My thoughts turn to Sofie, the succulent beast lazily perched on my bed ...
... but Elmo has beaten me to her.
"Shiloh!" I call in a thin, sugary voice. "Shiloh, want a treat?" Dogs are stupidly trusting and loyal.
The oven beeps to alert me to it's preheated status. I open a cabinet in a futile search for a bit of broth when my head snaps up. Shhhhhh. Everything becomes quiet apart from indistinct mumbling in the stairwell. I move forward as if in a trance ... the whispers become louder ... the portraits ... the portraits are talking. Elizabeth hates my shirt. Uncle Rico demands clam chowder. J. Montgomery bellows out the lyrics to 'Uptown Girl.'
Heh heh. Ha ha ha ... Ha HA HA HA HA. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
18 comments:
Oh my gosh!!!! I love love love this!!! Hahaha!! Publish this now!!! You are absolutely hilarious and such a gifted writer!! You poor, cooped up things though! I hope y'all have a safe trip to Aiken! We can't wait to see y'all!!
Christy, you are awesome. You perfectly describe the descent into madness we are all feeling. So exciting and magical at first, yet so excruciatingly INDOORS all the time!!! With the children!!! And the animals!!!
I am in tears. Though eloquently written, I think it was the image of a foil-ed Shiloh in a roasting pan that put me in stitches. Thanks for sharing - I needed a laugh like that to ease the madness. My kids are off school again tomorrow and I just realized Monday is MLK day... Think we'll "pretend" to be grumpy pirates tomorrow. AAARGH!
I'm just saying--if you lived in the Frozen Tundra of the North, none of this would be a problem. Plus we would have gifted you ice and snow tools.
You are officially the most hilarious blogger ever. Thank you for passing along your humor at a much needed time.
By the way, your house is absolutely gorgeous. Can we come live with you and add some more insanity to your life?
A masterpiece!
Oh my word!! That's hilarious! The dog & cat images are the best.
You are freaking hilarious!! It's been the same here in SC. Although I was too sick to enjoy the fresh fallen snow and the ice chunks just aren't any fun. Daycare and work finally presumed on Wednesday just before I went mad. Sure do miss you girl!
wonderful! i love it, and feel every word...although our pantries are still stocked, which is a good thing because we do not have a dog or a cat...
Oh my madly wonderful friend...Shiloh in the roasting pan was really the climax of the drama. Here's hoping you're thawed and have had a massage by now.
Oh my, the insanity of cabin fever with young children eloquently described. I can't believe Phil abandoned you mid-week without any provisions. What kind of husband is that??? Guess he justified it by saying that he had to go "earn a living" or some other nonsense.
Glad you all survived...or did you...come to think of it, I haven't seen you recently... :)
The picture of Shiloh in the roasting pan is classic. I would like a large framed print of that for my birthday. :)
Okay, well, yeah, the dog and cat were hysterical. But what is REALLY amazing is that in my quest to be EXACTLY like you, I realized we use the SAME towel to clean up messes off the floor. It's like we're the same person. Also, there is NOTHING like telling my husband that my friend (who is more like my clone) commented on his hotness for him to make a beeline for the computer. He now also realizes your intrinsic value as a human being, and my twin. I adore you completely.
Wait, WHO commented on WHOSE "hotness?"
Phil, Phil, Phil...husband of my BFF whom I'm never actually met, your wifey was just commenting on our collective blessedness of having extremely attractive spouses. We both count you as our trophy husbands, with legs from the pillars of the gods.
You are so creepy.
OK, Jenni. I'll let it slide. This time.
Best. Post. EVER! Never in all my life have I met anyone else with a sense of humor quite like yours. God broke the mold when he made you, my dear!
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