When my son was home on his third straight snow day, I aired my grievance to management.
“Mother Nature,” I shouted, “Go **** yourself. Twice.”
Around here, mothers have each others’ backs. If Mother Nature lived in my neighborhood, the Mommy Mafia would have sent her to sleep with the goldfishes days ago. Nothing diminishes the affection for one’s children like extended periods of close proximity.
My husband clamped his hand over my mouth. “Are you crazy?” His eyes held the crazed look of a man contemplating another five hours behind a snow blower. He whispered. “She might hear you.”
Being subjected to repeated queries regarding “what do we have in the house to eat?” diminished my sympathy.
“I wouldn’t mind as much if I had a mudroom,” I said. My husband sighed. It’s a sore point for me. When we bought our house he said it wouldn’t matter because it doesn’t snow in Virginia. I guess he should have checked with Mother Nature before making that assertion.
So when the Weather Channel sounded the alarm, the accusations flew. “You did this. I warned you.”
I was the picture of innocence. “I wished her sex. Twice. Who doesn’t want that?”
My husband said, “I wouldn’t mind sex once.”
“Which you might get if your son wasn’t following me around all day asking if there’s anything to eat in the house.”
Still, the aftermath of Pax was beautiful, the vibrant blue singular to evening snow contrasting with the golden pools cast by the landscaping lights. The world was hushed, like everything had stopped to admire the view.
“Let’s take a walk,” I said. We put on our gear and strolled hand-in-hand down the middle of the street. The light bounced off the snow on the ground and in the air, almost bright enough to read by.
When we returned from our wandering, we saw a message scrawled into the snow on the driveway.
My son popped up from his hiding place and pelted us with snowballs. I wondered how long he had lain in wait, especially when I noticed that he was wearing shorts and a tee shirt. When the battle was over, my husband and son went inside, but I hung back a moment.
“Try not to get snow all over the floor,” I shouted. “I don’t have a mud room.” My husband shook his head.
I took a deep breath. My son would be home again tomorrow.
“Hey Mother Nature,” I called into the silence.
“Thank you. Twice.”