When we were kids, snowday meant a day off from school, more TV than usual, and maybe some rice crispy treats. Playing in the snow was a special added plus. I’m all grown up now with my own children and I can earnestly say that for Mommys, snowdays are a dreadful hell on earth. Add a sick child and they’re a more special hell but still a hell.

Snowday on Shalavee.com

No matter how much I prepared and shopped and cleaned, the actual “being trapped in the house” snowday meant perpetual messes and no time alone for myself unless I was cooking. It meant a little one with a stuffy nose who never wanted to nap and wanted to sit on top of me or cry at me the rest of time. For like 14 hours straight at least. I was constantly working but never feeling like anything was worth doing. A feeling of helplessness and despondency began creeping into my bones.

The moment I tried to escape up to my craft room, I was found. The diaper needed changing, the nap was being dismissed. I was not in control. I was hit and kicked. I was unappreciated. I was done. Mark was outside snow blowing.

Snowday on Shalavee.com

Maybe it was the knowledge that even if I had wanted to escape, I couldn’t that made me feel like a trapped rat. That my already boundary-less self had even less on a snowday. But way more work to do. Like being on vacation but I’m still in my house. I found myself angry beyond reasonability. Incapable of having compassion for the 2 year-old as she cried and screamed that she was sick for the fortieth time. Yeah I know already. If you let me give you the yucky medicine you’d feel better. No!

I began to chew on my lower lip again. I complained to the husband to no avail. I posted a mini rant on Facebook and found no immediate solace in that action except for the admission that I’m human. Later some good friends personally messaged me and made me feel better. And all that yummy food I’d slaved over and the promise of the wine at the end of the day was of no real help to my crazy cooped up cabin fever riddled mind.

Writing this down was my last-ditch effort to feel like I am doing something proactive for myself. My brain dump. That I’m entitled to my feelings however irrational they may seem. Here’s to hoping but certainly School and daycare will be up and running on Monday. Because in the end it’s still just a Saturday. A snowy Saturday but still just a Saturday. So that in two days, I may go to my therapy appointment and get a check up on my sanity. And it will be a glorious Monday!!!

PS As I was pulling this together, the school called. There’s no school on Monday. Although Fiona is down for a nap. The beatings will continue until morale improves.

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  1. OH, no! What a rough day – and, presumably, weekend! I hope Fiona’s feeling better by now and that you’re having a better day today. *Crossing fingers, FWIW*

    1. Ha! She is betterish. Got the globs of stuff in her lungs. Cried through brushing her teeth because she didn’t want to go to daycare. I was jittery by the time I got to the gym. And then a huge hunk of ice fell of the roof right next to me and I cursed loudly. School is off tomorrow too but one more day of daycare. So one ten year old, no two year old is still better than trapped. Thanks for asking Donna!

      1. I’m glad she’s a little better. Hang in there — freedom’s a-comin’! This, too, shall pass. I know platitudes do nothing, but one feels impelled to offer them nonetheless…

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