The night before last, it started to snow. It snowed enough that by yesterday morning, all of the schools in our area were closed. It snowed enough that (gasp!) Sean came home from work two hours early.
Yesterday evening, the snow changed to freezing rain. It didn’t change back until early this morning. Throughout the morning, the new layer of thick ice was covered by a crap-load of snow (we ended up with about a foot). Sean agreed to hold off on going into work so that the snow plows would have some time to do their jobs. That, and he couldn’t deny how badly our driveway needed shovelled. He and the kids bundled up and set to work.
By the time the driveway was done a couple of hours later (and Sean came in looking like the Abominable Snow Husband), things on the roads had gone from bad to worse. Our county and the ones surrounding it had upgraded from a Level 1 snow emergency to a Level 2 snow emergency–basically, the difference between “It really is a bad idea to be out driving right now,” and “Honestly, if you’re in your car and someone isn’t dying, you are a complete moron” (in case you are wondering, it tops out at Level 3, or “We are now going to ticket and fine you for your stupidity if we catch you on the roads”). I threatened to hide keys. Sean accepted defeat and agreed to stay home for the day.
He showered. We ate lunch. We got the kids down for quiet time. He collapsed on the couch, complaining of how exhausted he was from shovelling.
Later, as activity was being restored in our house, Sean looked at me and said, “We should take the kids to the Playland for dinner tonight.
The man would not survive a week as a stay-at-home mom. This time of year, especially, I can go days without seeing the outside of the house. Yes, it gets old. Yes, it can be depressing. But I have to do what I have to do, and by the time we do school, feed everyone (three times a day, thank you), clean, and do everything else that has to be done on a daily basis, well, even if I found the time to get out, I probably wouldn’t have the energy. But him? He can’t make it half a day. He must. go. somewhere. Even if that means packing our children up and heading to McDonald’s on snow-covered roads.
Is it any wonder that daddy is the fun parent? He has pillow fights and takes them to McDonalds for dinner. And me? I’m the tired old hag that cooks food with vegetables and tells them to make their beds.