You know what, Mother Nature? It’s not funny anymore. It’s not funny, and it’s not fun.
Enough with the snow. OK? Same with all the ice. I’ve had enough. Take your stupid snow, and your stupid ice, and your stupid sleet, and stick it…well, I think you know where I’d like you to stick it.
Don’t give me that offended look. You’re a spiteful, mean old hag, and I’ve had just about enough. You know what happens every single time you drop another load of your wintry nonsense on my front lawn? I’ll tell you what happens. Two words, lady: snow days.
I cannot begin to tell you how much havoc snow days wreak on my life. I’m a divorced dad, which means I’m already spending most of my rapidly fading thirties driving around town to pick up or drop off kids. Between Colette and me, we have three kids, two custody schedules and two jobs. Our lives are crazy enough when you aren’t up to your shenanigans, you wrinkled battle axe.
When the kids don’t have school because of rotten weather, things go from crazy to stupid-crazy. All the usual pick-up and drop-off routines, which have little margin for error to begin with, get shot straight to hell. We end up spending half of any snow day on the phone, trying to figure out normally are supposed to be. And if they can’t get to where they need to be, things have to be rescheduled, which causes things on the rescheduled dates to get rescheduled, and essentially the fabric of our universe folds upon itself until everything inside it implodes.
But that’s not even the worst of it. No, the worst thing about snow days is that the kids don’t have school.
Do you understand the ramifications of that phrase, you embittered wench? When the kids don’t have school, they stay home. All day. All. Day. Long.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I like my kids. But under certain conditions, kids are like vodka: best enjoyed in moderation. Too much of either will give you a massive headache and/or make you clammy. Having a house full of kids on a snow day is the parenting equivalent of a weekend bender in Soulard.
Under normal circumstances, a day at home with my girls is not a huge deal. But on a snow day, you see, the kids are trapped. They’re stuck inside and bored out of their minds. If I let them watch TV, they become so unresponsive to outside stimuli that I’m compelled to hold my finger under their noses to make sure they’re still exhaling. If I make them turn off the TV, they start playing with each other, which is good, but eventually they start arguing over which one of them “gets to be Hermione” or something like that, which makes me want to repeatedly close the garage door on my face.
If the kids want to play in the snow, since it’s super-cold out, they can’t do it for long. And it’s kind of a pain for me, because I have to stop what I’m doing to make sure they’re properly bundled. When they come back in, I have to stop what I’m doing in order to make sure they don’t slop the entire house with snow and muck.
And you see, you mangy battle-axe, all this stopping and starting is a pain, because unlike the children, I don’t get snow days. If I’m home with the kids, I still have to work. Have you ever tried to finish writing a presentation when you’re being asked what’s for lunch, what kind of animal Shrek is, and why I think it’s perfectly fair to deny a mid-afternoon “waffle break?” Of course you don’t. You’re Mother Nature, destroyer of schedules and patron saint of inconvenience. You probably don’t even know what Power Point is. You disgust me.
This all wouldn’t be so bad if it only happened once or twice each winter. But for some reason, it keeps happening this winter. It seems like we’ve had six or seven snow days already. That’s way too much, lady. Way too much. We’re only two-thirds of the way through winter. We should have only had maybe two snow days by now. We had two snow days last week alone.
Do you hear me, Mother Nature? It’s time to stop. No more snow days. I’m sick of trying to work with the Disney Channel blaring in the background. I’m sick of snow, I’m sick of ice, I’m sick of it all. As a matter of fact, I’m sick of winter entirely. I’m tired of it being dark when I wake up and dark when I get home at night. I’m tired of gray skies and dead plants and mucky tires.
I demand that you start spring immediately. I’m not kidding. By the end of this week, I want 70 degrees, lush foliage, and tasty ballpark nachos. I want kids in school and my life back to normal. I’ve had it with your nonsense, Mother Nature, and I’m not taking it any more. Either you start spring this very instant or I’ll…uh, I’ll…well…
I’m starting to understand why your first name is Mother.
Bob Rybarczyk (firstname.lastname@example.org) writes stuff. He’s thrilled that he once again was not asked to compete on “Dancing With The Stars.” Look for his novel, “Acoustic Kitty,” ($15.95) at Amazon and other online booksellers. Drop him a line to sign up for his handy FringeMail reminder service.