Showing posts with label cabin fever. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cabin fever. Show all posts

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Blanky and Cranky

*I am going to whine. Right here, right now. Look away if this offends you. 

I am done. I don't know what to do about it or how to resolve my done-ness, but done I am.  Done! Done, I tell you!

It did not snow that much in 2009, or 2008. It probably didn't snow a whole lot in 2007 either.  I don't remember, because any snow we had disappeared pretty quickly. There were long breaks between snow storms. It was not SNOMAGEDON.  Violet played outside in the snow for less than 10 minutes in 2007.  She did not like it. In 2008, she "helped" shovel a bit and watched a snow plow nearly bury her and her father on the sidewalk. Last winter, I brought snow into the house and let her play with it in the sink after she was too cold to play outside.  My point is, snow gear has never been necessary.  Our brief forays into the yard or the journey from front door to car, were not enough to justify the purchase of snow boots and snow pants.  Also, you have to buy the snow boots and pants in October, because that's when the asshole retailers put them out.  So, it's a pricey gamble. Will it snow this winter? What size will the child expand to by the time snow starts piling up? 

Violet has no snow boots, no snow pants and a "fashion" winter coat (the same goes for her parents, BTW).  No one in our circle of friends has any outgrown snow gear to pass down.  There are NO boots, or pants to be found in stores.    We are utterly unprepared for an extended winter wonderland.

The members of the Heathen Family are prisoners in their own home. 

She's wearing four pairs of pants & they were all soaked through.



Saturday, February 6, 2010

On a Snowy Saturday

Upon opening my back door at 7 AM I was greeted with this:


Two hours later, we indulged in a family sing-along with Bohemian Rhapsody:


One cat watched helplessly, while the other was manhandled:


There was some much begged for doll play:


The ladies of the house watched while Daddy shoveled the snow outside. There was some verbal taunting and a little snow was thrown in the general direction of the big window:


How's sno-magedon treating you?

Friday, January 8, 2010

Not Living Up to Her Middle Name

My daughter's middle name is Picabo, as in Picabo Street; the well decorated Olympic downhill skier.  Because I am a great lover of winter sports as viewed from my warm couch, I became enamored of Picabo during her final games. If she had won her last gold medal, Violet's first and middle names might have been reversed.  I did some skiing of my own in high school, but with age I have gained not only wisdom, but a much lower tolerance for extreme temperatures.  I could go all winter without so much as a passing urge to play in the snow, but I am not 4 years old and suffering from cabin fever.  Yesterday, Aaron made a sledding play date for Violet with our neighborhood friends. This was fine despite Violet's lack of winter wear or a sled, because these friends were going to share their gear.  Well, vomit happens and the play date got canceled.

I might have breathed a sigh of relief, but Daddy decided that we could go sledding by ourselves.  We just needed to stop at Walmart and pick up a sled.  I suspected that Walmart would fail us, as it always does, and gathered a few items to use as makeshift sleds (southern Ohio stores are notorious for not stocking sleds).  Why not turn this into a homeschool lesson about what will hurl you down a hill and what will not?



 An oversized IKEA shopping bag with cardboard stuffed in the bottom will NOT send you down the hill.


Nope. Still doesn't work.  Also note: lids from Rubbermaid containers do NOT make good sleds.


You know what does work?  Sleds borrowed from nice teenagers who try not to laugh at your pathetic attempts to sled with random household objects.



Borrowed sleds actually work too well. The once fearless Violet began to rethink her whole daredevil lifestyle.  Hurtling down a frozen hill at breakneck speed with a 200 pound man is apparently my daughter's threshold for terror.

Aaron ended up pulling Violet around in a laundry basket (I told you. Random household objects.) She was too traumatized to use the real sled again*. 






*Furthermore, she was too cold.  Her stylish faux suede coat and boots were no match for the wet snow, despite the grocery bag liners I expertly stuffed her feet into. We lasted 20 minutes on that hill.

Thursday, January 1, 2009

I'm Still NOT Making Resolutions

So, the Winter Solstice is supposed to be the celebration of the returning light and yet come New Year's Day I feel blah. I feel as if the light will NEVER return. There is nothing to look forward, but cold. I sit huddled in front of my computer trying to absorb some warmth from the bandwidth. A year ago, I dealt with my restlessness by potty training the child and starting a blog. I know, I've already told the whole of the interwebs that I do not make resolutions, but I may need to take on a project while I hibernate.

A project is NOT a resolution. There is nothing resolute about a project. Projects can go on forever and wither and revive and never fail.  It's the failure part of resolutions that make them so unappealing to me. It's also why I never set goals. Goals are kryptonite to my rebel soul, but a project makes me stronger.

Give me a project. Yeah, I'm talkin' to you. I won't promise to do it (promises are a bit resolute), but I will take all suggestions under consideration and thank you kindly for them.

Go on. How often does someone ask you to tell them what to do?

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

Daylight Savings is Kicking My Ass


When I had a job outside of my home, I always dreaded "Spring Forward". You lose an hour of sleep and you never seem to get back to your routine. I thought my discomfort had something to do with setting the alarm and getting up to go to work, but it has become clear to me that my brain cannot handle time change. In the future when people are enjoying their time-travel vacations, I will be at home in the present desperately clinging to my schedule. I have had no pressing engagements since the clocks went forward and yet I am fighting a losing battle with that stupid hour. I get up late. I am too tired to get moving and before I know it, the house has descended into a crumb strewn mine field of toys. Violet is all discombobulated too. She was awake until almost 10:30 last night, just lying in bed snorting like an angry bull. The laundry has piled up, clean but not folded. I continually come back to the computer to look at my iGoogle and hours of inertia tick by. All I have to show for my day is the reassurance that Michelle and Matilda Rose will be "taken care of" (says People.com) and the knowledge that Elliot Spitzer is a dirty old man. Chronic cabin fever does nothing to improve the situation. I looked longingly at the melting snow drifts. Even with the bright sun and trickling water, it was only 36 degrees. The weather is a filthy teasing whore! Oh, how I long to find out just how much my physical stamina has suffered from months of inactivity.

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