I was in the fetal position in my living room when I finally heard those four exhilarating words.
“School is open tomorrow.”
At that point, I came close to reliving that iconic scene from the Sound of Music as I debated on stretching my arms towards the sky, running down the ice-covered hills of Yazoo clay.
I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, but that simple announcement was just wanted I needed to give me strength.
With the Martin Luther King holiday on Monday and two snow days, I had actually been home with my kids for about two weeks because before that they were recovering from the flu. I have been tending to my three little angels (the blessings they are) inside a germ-infested, messy, chaotic home.
They almost broke me.
I certainly shoved the flu bug out the door as best I could. But right when I thought our home would return to normal, I discovered the three munchkins would be with me another three days.
And this time, they were not the tired, pitiful kids. They were full of energy, loud, bored, hungry, dirty, questioning and on a mission to send me to the nuthouse.
Don’t let those photos you see floating around social media or even within the pages of this newspaper edition fool you. I see the hidden pain in the eyes of those parents. I refused to take any photos of myself because you would have seen the “real” vision of a parent on the edge. My hair would have been knotted on top of my head, dark circles would be under my eyes. I would still have my pajamas on, and orange dust from Cheetos on my face.
Snow days in my younger, pre-kid days meant a glass of wine and a television show to binge watch while I cuddled up in a blanket on the couch. Now, I am breaking out into a sweat before 10 a.m. as I try to juggle work appointments and entertain my three children who suddenly “forget” how to use their imagination.
Within three days, I have lost my voice and most of my sanity. My pantry has been wiped out from the bottomless, eating machines I call my children. My floor is wet with snow from kids coming in and out of the house, leaving the door open. Toys that haven’t seen the light of day in three years suddenly emerged and were left on the floor like landmines. I have been hit in the face with snowballs. The lid of a hope chest collapsed on my head as I searched for winter sweaters. And if I watch Frozen or Teen Titans one more time, I might get sick.
Spending time with your children is one thing. But being cramped up in your house for three days, unable to leave because the roads are so icy…will get the best of you.
“I don’t care if that school is open tomorrow or not,” I told my best friend on the phone. “I am dropping these kids off. It could look like the North Pole out there tomorrow, but these kids are going somewhere.”
I was on the verge of writing my will, when the news arrived that school would be open the next day. I had another burst of energy. I began packing school lunches, laying out clothes.
“Guess what,” I asked my kids, doing a little skip in the kitchen. “You go back to school tomorrow.”
And as I tucked them into bed that evening, I said a silent prayer for all teachers and daycare workers. They certainly earn their money in my book.
As the sun emerged the next morning, I pulled into the school parking lot on two wheels. Before you knew it, I was blowing kisses and shoving kids out the door.
Believe it or not, I was excited to get back to work so that I could relax and have peace of mind.
And if I turn on the news tonight and the weatherman even says the word “snow,” I am turning the television off. I don’t need that kind of negativity in my life at this point.
