I was awakened suddenly this morning by the phone jing-jangling in my ear. It was pitch black outside, and I had been sleeping like the dead. It could have been 2AM or 6AM; I had no clue. It felt like the middle of the night.
As my husband jumped up and scrambled to find a telephone receiver (which was, miraculously, in its docking station for probably the second time in its entire existence) my mind started flitting around the family, wondering who could be so sick or injured as to warrant such a rude interruption to my beauty sleep.
As soon as my husband located the phone and said a groggy "hello", I heard my cell phone’s familiar song serenading me from the kitchen below us. By this time I was sure someone had died. What else could be so important that someone was calling both phone numbers???
Husband was silent with the phone at his ear as I struggled to break free of the tangle of blankets that held me captive. Before I could make my escape, he hung up and said, "School’s on a two-hour delay."
SCHOOL. It took a moment for reality to set in. No one was dead or maimed. It was just the school district calling. I breathed a great sigh of relief and sunk back into the welcoming warmth of my bed while my heartbeat returned to its normal pace and my entire head of hair turned instantly to a snowy white. How appropriate. I match the ground outside.
Yes, we got an inch of snow in the night. And INCH. You can see actually the grass peeping through the fluffy white stuff. This is Pennsylvania, people. And schools are running two hours late. Surely this is a new level of pathetic.
Once I knew no one in my immediate family was sick or dying, the indignation set in. They can’t throw some salt on the roads and carry on as usual? Since when is school delayed in the northeast for an inch of snow? Now don’t get me wrong. I love a Snow Day. But THIS is not a Snow Day. A Snow Day requires enough snow to make a snowman. THIS is a School Day.
And do you know what it means when the public schools are on a two-hour delay? Well, I’ll tell you. That means that my daughter’s preschool is closed. And THAT means all my well-laid plans are down the drain.
Allow me to set the scene for you. There is not a slice of bread in the house for sandwiches, not even a heel. There is all of an inch of milk in the bottom of the carton. There are no more goldfish crackers or pretzels to snack on. I’m all out of dinner meat in the freezer. If I don’t get to the grocery store TODAY, you’re going to be reading Musings of Old Mother Hubbard.
Plus. I lifted weights on Monday. My muscles have been torn down and rebuilt and are ready for another torture session. I don’t want to let another day go by without getting a workout.
In other words, today was supposed to be Grocery Shopping and Weight Lifting Day. NOT Snow Day.
I had the rest of my week planned out beautifully. I would do my grocery shopping and weights this morning. Tomorrow morning I would run to the mall and find some fun sparkly earrings and sheer nylons for The Party on Saturday night. And Saturday morning I have a date at the nail salon so my feet are peep-toe perfect and my hands don’t look like the Irish Washerwoman.
As an aside, who is the Irish Washerwoman, anyway? I heard about her my entire life growing up. All I know is, I don’t want her hands.
So anyway. My plans. They were dashed with one mere phone call in the wee hours of this snowy morning.
I suppose I could lay down the law and insist that my daughter accompany me to the grocery store and the gym. I am, you know, the parent. But a grocery shopping trip with a reluctant 4-year-old and an active 2-year-old is not my idea of fun. I liken it to a root canal without novocaine. I try to avoid it at all costs. And while my 2-year-old loves going to the gym to play while I work out, my 4-year-old has never been and is not very receptive to new childcare situations.
**UPDATE** Since I started writing this post (at the wee hours of this morning — since I couldn’t go back to sleep after the phone(s) rang, I figured I might as well get up and blog about it) I have discovered that my 4-year-old (whose preschool follows a different school district’s closings, obviously one that has more common sense than our own) does, after all, have school at her regular time.
Which would be good news except I still have to be home at 10am for my son’s bus, which is of course right smack-dab in the middle of my 2.5 hours of freedom that my daughter is in school.
So I have a choice to make. I can accomplish one of my goals unhindered by a whiny preschooler, but not both. Which would you chose? Workout? Or groceries?