Last week the world was against me..or so I was convinced. We are a very blessed family concerning health. Being that we homeschool and have never had to make use of daycare, the children have had minimal exposure to severe viruses. This is what I choose to believe and I will thank you not to burst my bubble. I have also managed to maintain relative good health even though I work in the personal support field....up until last week. A rather nasty little critter decided to take up residence in my tummy and damage my track record. Unfortunately, my family doesn't see the need for life to slow down (let alone stop) when Mama gets sick. My uncaring, selfish little monsters actually insisted on eating..EATING (!) while I was suffering from nausea. The audacity! Of course I started feeling ill right around grocery day so the pilgrimage had to be made, but not before an essential birthday party had to be attended. Hubby was at work so I was flying solo yet again. Ol' Man Winter has, all too easily, won the annual game of Hide and Seek with northern Ontario and I had a short window of time sandwiched between two snow storms to get my tasks accomplished.
I bundled the children in full snow gear to make the hour-long drive to the birthday party because although the snow has subsided for the time being, a deep freeze had settled in...aah, much better. We were running late (completely out of character..ha!) so I decided to wait until after the party to fill the family bus. We arrived at the bowling alley just 10 minutes late and commenced with riotous celebration. At least the children did. I sat on the extraordinarily uncomfortable resin bench and tried to ignore the residual cramping from the previous days' infestation. By the end of the party the kids had developed a true love for bowling and I had developed an unlikely appreciation for the previously uncomfortable bench. I groaned at the thought of leaving it for the unwelcoming grasp of -20 degree winds. I spent the next thirty minutes trying to round up 5 over-stimulated children to don their outerwear once again. The girls thankfully need little assistance now-a-days which affords me the extra time needed to chase, yell at, threaten, and force the Buddies to get on their coats and boots. I managed to dress Buddy #2 with minimal effort (after he had been corralled). Buddy #1, on the other hand, was a completely different story. His first boot slid right on but his second boot was proving much more difficult. He was grunting and crying as I was repeatedly trying to shove his foot in the boot he had just taken off a mere 2 hours before. I made sure the Velcro was un...velcroed. I shoved my hand in the damp, stinky foot space to check for forgotten socks but nothing was amiss. Then I noticed the lack of reflective strips that had previously adorned the back side of the boot. Upon closer examination of both boots I realized they weren't related at all! Someone had mistaken my son's similar but different boot for their own child's. Buddy #1 was now the proud owner of a very nice but completely useless size 12 winter boot. Left without options, I carried the sock-footed boy out to the van and headed for the city.
I now needed to fill up the bus since the needle was edging dangerously close to the red. The nearest gas station was just up the road so I had no cause for concern. By this time afternoon had changed to night since evening is bypassed in this area come December. The lack of sunlight made it seem 30 degrees colder so I opted to just put $40 in to keep from standing in the frigid air for too long. I managed to insert my debit card and punch in my PIN without too much trouble. The attendant activated the pump and I thoughtlessly turned the gas cap...but nothing happened. I tried again, still nothing. My gas cap had frozen solid. I tried turning it rapidly in either direction hoping the friction would heat the plastic enough to set it free to no avail. My glove less hands were now white and stiff. I felt slightly panicked so I called the 10 year-old to help. She rotated the stubborn cap several times as well. Still nothing. She tagged the 7 year-old in. Nothing. I hung the nozzle back on the pump and restarted the van. Sensing my distress, the 6 year-old asked, "Mama, are we going to make it home?" Before I had a chance to answer the 10 year-old raised both of her hands in her characteristically dramatic manner and declared, "Everyone be quiet! It's time to pray." With that each child fell silent and I began to drive. I placed my gloves on the heater and turned up the fan to try to thaw them out. About 2 kilometers up the road was another gas station. I pulled into the parking lot not really knowing what I was going to do. I tried to use my breath to thaw my frozen fingers and put my now warmed gloves back on. I took a deep breath and tried again. Miraculously, it popped right open! One problem solved.
I drove directly to the nearest thrift store in search of replacement boots. But since I live in the Land that Progress Forgot, it still closes at 6:00. It was now 6:07 so I was greeted by a red-vested, ego-inflated teenager guarding the locked door, pointing at her watch, and shaking her head at me. Had my parents not raised me as well as they did, I might have had something to shake at her but I just got back in my well-fueled van and continued on to the stores that still wanted my business. I managed to get into the dollar store to get some extra warm socks to cover the Buddy's feet while we bought the groceries. I chose black so from a distance they could maybe be mistaken for boots and I could escaped the clicking tongues and dirty looks of passers-by passing judgement on my parenting. The children were rather exceptionally behaved at the store, probably because they knew if we left without buying anything they'd be returning to a house even Mother Hubbard wouldn't want to open the cupboards in. The goodness lasted only until I was waiting in the checkout. I sent the children just around the corner (Buddies in the cart, girlies pushing) to wait on the bench while I paid. I can't see them from this line, but I can hear...every word. Somewhere between putting the milk and bread on the conveyor I heard Buddy #2's distinct scream. Not knowing (or caring) what had prompted the sudden outburst, I apologetically excused myself walked around the corner and retrieved the cart the boys were inhabiting. I positioned it at the end of the aisle where they could clearly see my I-have-had-just-about-enough-for-one-day glare and proceeded with the checkout.
The ride home was virtually silent because I had proclaimed the necessity of it. When we finally arrived home I had the final task of bringing in the groceries and then I could retire to the comfort of my fleece sheets. The kids had recieved a full lecture on how Mama was tired, ill, and now very cold and would very much just like to go to bed. I asked for a volunteer door opener. This person has a very simple but important job. He or she must stand at the front door, open it when I come in or go out and close it behind me. Buddy #2 jumped at the chance to be Mama's helper, even declaring that he would do a "great job"! I zipped up my coat and shielded myself against the frigid blast. I retrieved the first four heavy bags from the van with numb fingers and climbed the precariously icy steps. I smiled through chattering teeth at the little blond head peering out the front door window who, instead of simply opening the door, asked me for the "magic word."
In this agonizing moment I stood on the frozen front porch and questioned everything I have ever taught my children.
I bundled the children in full snow gear to make the hour-long drive to the birthday party because although the snow has subsided for the time being, a deep freeze had settled in...aah, much better. We were running late (completely out of character..ha!) so I decided to wait until after the party to fill the family bus. We arrived at the bowling alley just 10 minutes late and commenced with riotous celebration. At least the children did. I sat on the extraordinarily uncomfortable resin bench and tried to ignore the residual cramping from the previous days' infestation. By the end of the party the kids had developed a true love for bowling and I had developed an unlikely appreciation for the previously uncomfortable bench. I groaned at the thought of leaving it for the unwelcoming grasp of -20 degree winds. I spent the next thirty minutes trying to round up 5 over-stimulated children to don their outerwear once again. The girls thankfully need little assistance now-a-days which affords me the extra time needed to chase, yell at, threaten, and force the Buddies to get on their coats and boots. I managed to dress Buddy #2 with minimal effort (after he had been corralled). Buddy #1, on the other hand, was a completely different story. His first boot slid right on but his second boot was proving much more difficult. He was grunting and crying as I was repeatedly trying to shove his foot in the boot he had just taken off a mere 2 hours before. I made sure the Velcro was un...velcroed. I shoved my hand in the damp, stinky foot space to check for forgotten socks but nothing was amiss. Then I noticed the lack of reflective strips that had previously adorned the back side of the boot. Upon closer examination of both boots I realized they weren't related at all! Someone had mistaken my son's similar but different boot for their own child's. Buddy #1 was now the proud owner of a very nice but completely useless size 12 winter boot. Left without options, I carried the sock-footed boy out to the van and headed for the city.
I now needed to fill up the bus since the needle was edging dangerously close to the red. The nearest gas station was just up the road so I had no cause for concern. By this time afternoon had changed to night since evening is bypassed in this area come December. The lack of sunlight made it seem 30 degrees colder so I opted to just put $40 in to keep from standing in the frigid air for too long. I managed to insert my debit card and punch in my PIN without too much trouble. The attendant activated the pump and I thoughtlessly turned the gas cap...but nothing happened. I tried again, still nothing. My gas cap had frozen solid. I tried turning it rapidly in either direction hoping the friction would heat the plastic enough to set it free to no avail. My glove less hands were now white and stiff. I felt slightly panicked so I called the 10 year-old to help. She rotated the stubborn cap several times as well. Still nothing. She tagged the 7 year-old in. Nothing. I hung the nozzle back on the pump and restarted the van. Sensing my distress, the 6 year-old asked, "Mama, are we going to make it home?" Before I had a chance to answer the 10 year-old raised both of her hands in her characteristically dramatic manner and declared, "Everyone be quiet! It's time to pray." With that each child fell silent and I began to drive. I placed my gloves on the heater and turned up the fan to try to thaw them out. About 2 kilometers up the road was another gas station. I pulled into the parking lot not really knowing what I was going to do. I tried to use my breath to thaw my frozen fingers and put my now warmed gloves back on. I took a deep breath and tried again. Miraculously, it popped right open! One problem solved.
I drove directly to the nearest thrift store in search of replacement boots. But since I live in the Land that Progress Forgot, it still closes at 6:00. It was now 6:07 so I was greeted by a red-vested, ego-inflated teenager guarding the locked door, pointing at her watch, and shaking her head at me. Had my parents not raised me as well as they did, I might have had something to shake at her but I just got back in my well-fueled van and continued on to the stores that still wanted my business. I managed to get into the dollar store to get some extra warm socks to cover the Buddy's feet while we bought the groceries. I chose black so from a distance they could maybe be mistaken for boots and I could escaped the clicking tongues and dirty looks of passers-by passing judgement on my parenting. The children were rather exceptionally behaved at the store, probably because they knew if we left without buying anything they'd be returning to a house even Mother Hubbard wouldn't want to open the cupboards in. The goodness lasted only until I was waiting in the checkout. I sent the children just around the corner (Buddies in the cart, girlies pushing) to wait on the bench while I paid. I can't see them from this line, but I can hear...every word. Somewhere between putting the milk and bread on the conveyor I heard Buddy #2's distinct scream. Not knowing (or caring) what had prompted the sudden outburst, I apologetically excused myself walked around the corner and retrieved the cart the boys were inhabiting. I positioned it at the end of the aisle where they could clearly see my I-have-had-just-about-enough-for-one-day glare and proceeded with the checkout.
The ride home was virtually silent because I had proclaimed the necessity of it. When we finally arrived home I had the final task of bringing in the groceries and then I could retire to the comfort of my fleece sheets. The kids had recieved a full lecture on how Mama was tired, ill, and now very cold and would very much just like to go to bed. I asked for a volunteer door opener. This person has a very simple but important job. He or she must stand at the front door, open it when I come in or go out and close it behind me. Buddy #2 jumped at the chance to be Mama's helper, even declaring that he would do a "great job"! I zipped up my coat and shielded myself against the frigid blast. I retrieved the first four heavy bags from the van with numb fingers and climbed the precariously icy steps. I smiled through chattering teeth at the little blond head peering out the front door window who, instead of simply opening the door, asked me for the "magic word."
In this agonizing moment I stood on the frozen front porch and questioned everything I have ever taught my children.
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