I'm going to be on the news

Yes, it's pretty. No, I'm still not a fan. 

Last night the schools called to say they'd be starting with a two hour delay, which delighted everyone.

Then we got the call first thing this morning saying they were closing due to icy roads.

*Insert gritting teethed emoji here*

It is way too early to be using up our snow days. These kids are going to be doing blizzard bags for sure this year!

It's beginning to look a lot like winter...

Lemme know if you guys sense any sign of Jack Frost. You can hold him down while I beat him up. 

New addition

Liam is taking a health class this semester which required him to be assigned a baby for a weekend. Lucky us. Below is "Little Satan" and "I am never having kids. Never." What you may not be able to discern is that Liam figured out he didn't actually have to hold said baby to feed it; he wedged the bottle under the onesie and let it glug away to its mechanical heart's delight. Several times we remarked, awestruck, that this baby was going to explode.

Then, of course, it needed burped. However, with a real baby you can pat various areas of their backs and bottoms to achieve the burping. This child device had a sensor on its back that you had to clack until it decided to burp. Clearly the child was related to Carrie, the original unburpable baby.

I can say in all honesty that this was the Monday in which Liam was most delighted to go back to school and get rid of his charge!

Veterans' Day snow

Thank you to all our Veterans, far and wide, who have served or are serving our country presently. Thank you to your families who hold down the fort and try their best to hold things together while you do what you've been called to do. Thank you all for the ridiculous amount of time and love and honor you pour out for those of us who do indeed take it for granted and often forget your sacrifices. We are put to shame when we stop to remember. Thank you for forgiving us.

Pap is here. He is one of those Veterans. Liam invited him to join the assembly to thank veterans at the high school today. It is November 11, and we are experiencing our first snow of the season. When Pap went into the assembly, there was a layer of gritty-yet-slippery hail-ish yuck. Now the snow is blustering about, looking like someone shook us. The powers that be are calling for 2-5 inches and I am wondering where in the garage I may find my ice scraper for Pepe the Pilot; I haven't yet made the switch from sunshade to scraper. 

I prefer the sunshade.

Muchly, much much more, as they say in Did I Ever Tell You How Lucky You Are? 

Now we shall see how easy it is to "lose" a Great Pyrenees in the snow. We've read that they shouldn't be let off leash as they tend to experience wanderlust, and "your neighbor may be surprised, especially as they appear out of the snow, to find a huge dog..."

I'm not ready!

Granted, I'm never ready, but substantial snow before Thanksgiving truly doesn't sit well with me. I don't even care of white Christmases. I'm more of a "if it has to snow, it can wait until the New Year- we already had enough this year" person. I will not say "fan."

So here we are with three kids and three dogs and hopefully school will be on time tomorrow because as early as the snow is, it is waaaaaaay too early to be starting with the snow days and delays!

This is why the rum is always gone...

Venting in the November breeze

I. Can't. Get. Warm.

It is the first week of November and we are already experiencing wind chill that says, "feels like 19." We skipped Indian summer completely and I reluctantly sadly despairingly boxed up my sun dresses, tank tops, floaty summery skirts; I begrudgingly unpacked my sweaters, long sleeves, and pants. Not that I don't like tights and sweaters, I'd just prefer to not have to wear multiple layers every single day for the next six months. Leggings under pants is ridiculous, but here we are. Some of you woke up to snow. I don't want to talk about it.

I have my largest pot on the stove with bone broth simmering away for up to the next 12 hours. Between the dark and the cold, I can hear the pounds sneaking on from the steady stream of comfort food that I'll be consuming. Our spring break is the very first week of March (yes, I'm serious), so there is zero chance of anyone spotting me in anything revealing until... oh, around May when Ohio gets her act together and recognizes that spring started two months previous. Why not indulge? The calories will keep me warm. Warm-er. Ish. Surely?

That is, if I don't end up on the news and living in a new venue before then. One where I'd be wearing orange. Or, perhaps, stripes. 

I don't know about you people, but let me set the record straight; boys do not have less drama than girls- they merely have different drama. 

For example, our resident middle school student made it to his fourteenth birthday last week by the grace of God. The vast majority of our meals together, he needs reminded, "get your knees down under the table. You are smashing your stomach and feeling full before you're actually full. Get your food in you. Quit playing around. Eat. Eat your food. Close the book." Repeat ad nauseam. By "vast majority" I mean 95% or higher of our meals. Often with food he likes!  

And will someone please invent a water shut-off valve that can be remotely activated by a parent's phone so that there issues a hard burst signifying a "you-have-two-minutes-left-so-rinse-and-get-out-lest-you-stay-sudsy" warning? Said child was given 10 minutes in the bathroom yesterday and took 45. Granted, some of this issue is caused by the bliss of having A) hot, running water, B) more than one bathroom, C) parents who are busy doing other things than standing around timing how long one is taking in the bathroom. However, short of taking the hinges off the bathroom door (which, while I have seriously considered, I object to the almighty draft I'd have to deal with when having my own shower) how does one pry another person out of the shower when one is on the opposite side of the bathroom door?!

People, I need a beating breakthrough. I'd rather not end up on the news. Eighth grade means this child in particular should be spectacular by now at getting himself ready for school. He lays out school clothes the night before. He makes his lunch the night before. He sets out what he wants for breakfast (unless it's refrigerated, obviously) the night before. Why then, are we having the same battles every day? 

Some would say, "just let him do it all on his own. He's gotta figure it out." Then he will miss the bus, and who does that inconvenience? Me. I'd have to take him to school. Especially when Dada is out of town for work. And his younger sibling, who is not old enough to be left home to get himself on his own bus yet, so he'd have to hurry to get ready to come with me. And the dogs, who have been built into our morning routine. Let's just empty the entire toolbox into the works, shall we? The heck with the wrench. 

Out of curiosity, I checked google maps. It would be around a 45 minute walk from our home to his school, and I know at least some of it doesn't have sidewalks. That would make him that much later if he missed the bus. The whole point of getting on the bus is so I don't have to drive him, adding more gasoline burned and more emissions and so forth. If I had any desire to take him to school, that would be built into our routine already.

How do we raise someone whom other someones (college roommates, apartment mates, future spouses) won't want to maim because of their inconsideration/selfishness/obliviousness? The child has zero money because, as our children, we don't believe they should be paid to help around the house. They live here, they should help, period. So we can't fine him the price of the water bill to open his eyes to the cost of sitting under the hot water for ridiculous amounts of time. How do we waken the (I hope) innate self-awareness of, "hey, I'm being kind of a jerk hogging the hot water, I should get clean and get out"? It is clear that what we/I am doing now does not work and is unsustainable. 

I don't want to leave you with the idea that he is a problem child and the other two are angelic by comparison; they most certainly are not. We have three great kids, each with their own issues. Would I trade them in on a yo-yo, as Nana used to say? Do not tempt me, Frodo.