|Illustration by Martin Austermuhle for DCist (12/19/09)|
By 3:00pm, I noticed the rain had turned to ice pellets. Then I heard low booms of thunder and looked at the darkening sky. Aw nuts. My spidey senses started tingling, and I knew this was going to suck. The wisdom of the County School Board’s decision to cancel school became apparent. I had a sudden urge to bake. I called my husband at his office and invoked the rarely used “Lydia Directive” (which translates roughly to “come home NOW”). I last used the Lydia Directive when my contractions were 4 minutes apart.
As it turns out, 3:00 was too late to invoke the directive. Because my husband spent the next seven hours in his car trying to get home. The text messages from him went from annoyed to concerned to some strange mentality that invoked a landscape Beyond Thunderdome. (You'll get to read them later this week.) I worried for his survival. I worried that he’d run out of gas, that he’d get t-boned by a bus as it jack-knifed across the interstate, or that he would have PTSD from being trapped in his car with a full bladder for seven hours.
As it began to snow in earnest, my children’s delight became palpable. We got word that school was canceled for the next day and the romping was extensive and noisy. Gulp. How many days off were they going to get? I considered starting happy hour early but Oprah was still on and I have standards. Then I heard thunder again. The children began chanting “THUN-DER SNOW! THUN-DER SNOW!” and I started having bizarre eighties flashbacks.
This was quickly followed by a scramble to find candles in the dark. Candles that I had cleverly stored directly behind the light bulbs in my hall closet. Did you know that light bulbs make a delightfully tinkly sound as they shatter under your bare feet in the dark? And that it is an equally delightful experience trying to clean up broken glass in the pitch black while your children shriek “THUN-DER SNOW!” and jump around in precisely the glass strewn spot you have just told them not to be? I believe they went to bed that night so quickly because the alternative was dealing with a mommy who had clearly lost her schmidt.
|You can play Angry Birds or you can make a potentially |
life saving phone call. OK. Just one game.
I hate you, Thundersnow.
But I still hate thundersnow.