Snow Days not so fun for Parents

Exactly two years ago this week, I penned a column about a snow day. The kind school children love and parents dread.

In reviewing my notes, I realized that the snow day two years ago was a greater challenge. Ice, not snow. Nothing fun about ice. Can’t play in it, make snowmen or snow cream, and kids end up inside the house all day driving their poor stay-at-home Mom crazy.

Mom always tries her best on a snow day. She makes hot chocolate and prepares a special breakfast for the Stroupe boys. Such was the case recently when March arrived by dumping upon us several inches of snow.

I knew we were in for it the night before the snow day when the computer told the kids school was a no-go and they tore through the house screaming blissful shouts of pure, unadulterated joy.

It’s not that we don’t love spending some extra time with our boys. But a snow day brings a lot of pressure with it. I closed my eyes the night before the snow day assured that, the following day, several things were inevitable: nobody would sleep late, one of the boys would end up in tears, Mom would complain about wet clothes and tracked-in sludge, and somebody would nail me with a snowball.

The following snow-day-morning, at exactly 8:46 a.m. (I looked at the clock)- a child broke into tears. Not long afterwards, I was told to “go outside and play with your boys.” Which I did. Less than ten minutes later, I was the recipient of a point blank missile launched from a left-handed pitcher’s gloved hand.

Despite us taking our boots off in the garage, a significant amount of a brown, icy mixture-type substance found its way onto the laundry room floor. On cue, Mom responded by stating that there indeed would be school the next day, even if she had to get out and scrape the roads herself.

Around noon, I caught a huge break. The roads cleared enough for my truck to make its way out of the driveway. With responsibilities at work beckoning me, I zoomed off into the distance, leaving my stunned kids as a distant memory in the rear view mirror.

I realize this sounds cruel. Not the part about leaving the kids, but the part about leaving the wife to fend for herself.

But upon returning that evening, I realized right away that snow days have changed since two years ago. The early morning crying incident was the only one of the day. The kids had settled in to watch television and their mom actually made them some tasty snow cream, which they appreciated.

Far from creating problems, my middle son had actually helped solve one by aiding the neighbor in the shoveling of his driveway. My other two sons welcomed me home with hugs, not with iceballs to the face.

Later that evening, I told my wife we would someday miss snow days. “We’ll sit by the gas logs and wish the kids were here to track sludge into the living room.” And we smiled as we realized we are living in the “good ole days” even now.

Then suddenly from the other room we heard shouts and screams. “They’ve cancelled it for tomorrow!” a kid’s voice yelled. Here we go again.