A Little Snow Perspective

I remember the snow when I was in first grade. It was the late 70's, and we lived in Buffalo Grove, Illinois (outside Chicago.) We got walloped with snow storm after snow storm.

I loved it.

There was so much snow that the city had to put red stakes in the snowbanks to show where the stop signs were. We walked to school on top of those snowbanks, looking down at passing cars.

After school, the neighborhood kids tunneled through the snow like eskimo squirrels. My dad helped us to make a slide in front of our house by scooting us down the snowbank on our snow-panted bottoms and then pouring a bucket or two of water down the indentation made by our rear ends. It was a fast slide.

We had snowball fights for the ages. Our snow forts were as impregnable as the Chateau d'If -- for no other reason than the eleven feet of standing snow on the ground.

What's amazing about my memories is that I don't remember people complaining about the snow. All I remember is consuming lots and lots of hot cocoa and Campbell's soup that winter.

That's why I laugh when I hear of the Federal Government shutting down because of a little snow. Granted, two feet of snow may seem like an awful lot... But, what do you expect when you elect a Midwesterner President of the United States? He was bound to bring a little weather in tow.

Here in the flatlands, we're enjoying our second day off from school this week. The boys are outside sledding with friends in the backyard. It's a well-earned bit of fun for them; they spent a half-hour this morning shoveling our front walk.

When they came inside after their "hard work", it was fun to hear them chatter to each other about how cold it was and how deep the snow was. "There's a TON of snow out there," my first-grader stated gravely as if I would be consumed by the blizzard were I to step foot outside.

As they settled in for their warm drinks, I tiptoed out with my ruler.

Six inches.

Still, they've fashioned some pretty swell snow forts out of that six inches...

But I wonder about my own recollections, now. And I wonder about my niece and nephew in Maryland imagining their way through 28 inches of the white stuff... What stories will they be able to tell?

- Midwest Mom

Saving the Best for Last

Mom must be another word for rotten egg, because I am always the last one to the car.

My own mother suffered from the same problem. There were six children in my family, and my father is a compulsive early-bird. We would get ready and be sitting down for Easter Mass 90 minutes before it was ready to begin. We showed up to high-school graduations while they were still setting up the chairs on the lawn. We got sunburn from staking out a good spot for Fourth of July fireworks "nice and early."

Still, when I was a kid my Dad always jokingly complained about always having to wait for my mother. He would say that Mom had a psychological 'trigger' like Pavlov's dog -- all we had to do was say the word “Car” and she would have to go to the bathroom. He would have us all buckled up and the car running in the driveway, and she still wouldn't emerge from the house for at least five more minutes. Now that I am a mom of 3, I finally understand why.

When we are planning to go out, whether it is to go to church or the zoo or a ballgame or school, I start out like my father and end up like my mother.

The compulsive early-bird in me starts getting people ready at least 30 minutes before it is time to leave. My style is half caring mother, half paratrooper Captain. (Go! Go! Go!)

• I check to make sure no one is dirty. I make sure no one looks like a clown (non-matching clothes), a hobo (holes in the pants), a zookeeper (what's that smell?), or an auto-mechanic (stains from who knows where).
• I remind everyone to go to the restroom and to comb their hair.
• I help them find their missing barrette, jacket, sock, or shoe. I help them button, zip, buckle, and tie. If it’s cold, I find matching hats and mittens. If it’s rainy, I get the umbrellas.
• I pack a bag with snacks, water, wipes, hand sanitizer, more snacks.
• I tell them what toys they can and can’t bring (no, you may not bring the super-soaker in the car).

When I am finished, there are three tidy children lined up and waiting by the door. We are usually ready in plenty of time to make it to our destination with room to spare. The early-bird time-buffer remains intact. (If you are an early-bird, you know what I mean.)

30 seconds before it is time to go, my husband puts his shoes on and gets his keys. (Where has he been for the last half hour?)

Finally, once everyone is ready to go, I look at myself in the mirror. And magically, as they walk out the door, I transform into my mother.

It's amazing how getting it all done for the rest of the family can make you look like you've just been through a train wreck. It is equally amazing how consistently I choose to use the early-bird buffer to my own advantage. As my husband takes the family down the driveway to get into the car, I take a few minutes to do everything for myself that I just did for everyone else.

It is wonderfully refreshing to get yourself ready, wash your face, put on some lipstick, comb your hair, change that shirt that has remnants of your two-year-old's last meal, and yes use the restroom -- in silence. In that few minutes, I find I am able to relax and refresh. It feels good to turn over the task of strapping in the children to my husband. The house is so peaceful when there's no one else in it.

Do I care that the rest of the family is pondering my mysterious disappearance from their midst? Do I mind that they might be waiting at the edge of impatience? No, not really.

I do not rush. Instead, I give myself a few moments of peace. And when I finally walk to the car, I do not hurry nor do I apologize. I just make a modest entrance.

If I’m lucky, I’ll get a “Well, you don't you look nice…”

"Thank you," I say as I slip into the passenger seat. I think we'll arrive right on time.

-Midwest Mom