What Day Is It? 

Its midnight and I can’t sleep. Shocker. And what day is it anyway? And whose brilliant idea was it to Spring Forward during a 4 day snow storm weekend? AS IF I wasn’t disoriented enough already. Idiotic. I stayed in my pajamas all day todayyesterdaywhenever because…I don’t know why, but I did.

Everyone goes back to school and work tomorrowtodaywhenever, finally, after what I hope to God was the last snow storm of the season. Let’s see if we can go for 5 days in a row, shall we? When was the last time that happened? NO IDEA. I feel like I may owe my family a blanket apology for the stuff I’ve said and the faces I’ve made and all of the sighing I’ve done this winter, especially on the snow days. It’s just been SO long, you know?

But anyway, moving on.

Don’t you just love smelling the coffee as you stumble down the stairs in the morning? Grabbing your favorite mug from the cabinet, reaching for the coffee pot, a wave of relief washing over you as you feel it’s weight while lifting it to pour? Me too.

Isn’t Monday morning coffee your very favorite and your best? Especially MONDAYS UNINTERRUPTED BY SNOW AND PEOPLE STAYING HOME WHEN THEY SHOULD BE AT WORK AND SCHOOL? Me too.

I can’t wait for tomorrowtodaywhenever.

I do admit that even though it messed with my psychology, I was happy for Boy who got his wish for MORE snow and MORE home late last week. Again. And again. Until I was staring down a 4 day weekend AGAIN. While I tried to keep my shit together, Boy did his thing from dawn til night. Things like this…

Notice the customized symbol on the flag? Isn’t that adorable? What does it mean, exactly? I was afraid to ask.

For future reference, if you want to try to maintain your sanity on the bazillionth snow day of the season, invite not 1, but 4 boys over to play with your son, once the roads are plowed, of course. The kid was begging for the company of some of his buddies so I put out invitations hoping at least 1 could come, figuring most folks wouldn’t want to venture out, and then they ALL came. To say Boy was in heaven would be an understatement. And yeah, they were LOUD but not maniacs, not at all. In fact, I enjoyed them immensely and I wish they could have stayed longer. I’m a puzzle, I know. They got lots of much needed physical play in the basement with pit stops for snacks and to watch videos about hippos farting, stuff like that. About a week ago, Boy and one of his friends came up with an idea for a money hunt, they wanted it be a thing, for which they’d advertise and they’d invite ALL THE PEOPLE. I didn’t really get it and we couldn’t quite pull off what they had in mind because a money hunt for the masses at my house? I may be nuts, but NO. I did hide a dollar bill for them to find in the basement a few times, though. If you wanna see a bunch of 8-10 yr old boys go ape shit, hide a dollar and tell them whoever finds it, keeps it. Best $5 I’ve spent in awhile. My surprise at how relatively tame the boys were, even with the dollar bill frenzy, led me to think about the crew Girl had here this past New Years Eve, friends I expected to be tame but weren’t. That pipe dream fell completely apart when a couple of the boys decided that having a fight with raw eggs in my guest bathroom would be a good idea. An idea I didn’t find out about in its entirety until three days later when the stench in the basement was so bad Boy came up gagging. And no, the crew was not drinking that night, or any night that I know of and I do make it my business to KNOW. And I was told they’d cleaned it up. And I blame myself for believing them. I won’t bore you with the details of the hours I spent cleaning that shit up, but just so you know, it involved massive amounts of profanity because dried raw eggs are like concrete and if you scrub too hard, they’ll take the paint right off your walls. And Girl was lucky enough to be far from home when this fumigationmitigationremediationoperation went down. But you better believe I exercised my MomTEXTING.

Speaking of Girl. Thankfully, we got her home ahead of the storm, very late Wednesday night, and y’all know she’s been sick at school because I’ve been talking about it a lot, because I’ve been worrying about her a lot, which is one of my specialities, but please indulge me as I attempt to make myself EVEN CLEARER…as soon as I share a selfie she took upon her arrival, right before she fell apart…

Ok. Here’s the clarity. The kid was SICK. I’m not sure if she was in the same pathetic condition all week or if the combination of the travel, which was pretty rough on her, and arriving home where she can let it all hang out with her Mommy completely unglued her. She was miserably sick, fainted that first night actually, and I don’t think there were enough Lysol wipes in the whole wide world to protect the rest of us from the shit she brought home with her. So, I’m thinking we’re pretty much screwed over here. And yes, I disclosed to the Moms of Boy’s friends that we had a sickie at home, that I was constantly wiping down and spraying the joint with Lysol and keeping Girl quarantined, but in the end they’re all very smart, savvy women, capable of making their own informed decisions, so of course they dropped their boys off and drove away as quickly as possible, which is exactly what I would have done. I’m happy to report that no one else is sick (yet) and Girl is finally feeling better which means she’s itching to get back out in the street, which means she’s going to Philly tomorrowtodaywhenever to see Maroon 5 with her cousin, of course.

We had my folks over on Saturday because they were going stir crazy too and we fired up our panini maker. Turkey, bacon, provolone, and tomato on country white bread with barbecue kettle chips. Yum. And Husband and I had the exact same thing again tonightlastnightwhenever for dinner because it’s THAT good.

As Boy and I worked on some of his homework tonightlastnightwhenever – which we nearly forgot about because SNOW DAYS – Husband reported, for the second time this week, that he dreamed he got his ear pierced. I told him he’s not allowed to have a midlife crisis because he already played that card in his 30’s, so just stop it. And Boy goes, “what’s a midlife crisis?” And I said its forgetting how old you are and pretending you’re a teenager when you’re not. Then Husband said maybe it was a tattoo and I told him to hold on a minute because – wow, we’re so psychically connected – he must have been actually dreaming MY dream, which obviously means that he has changed his position on MY getting the Springsteen tattoo I’ve wanted since I turned 40. Remember that time I tricked him by drawing a Born to Run tattoo on my ankle with a sharpee? You can think what you want about us, but we DO know how to have fun around here.

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