I always have these magical, wonderful ideas of what a "snow day" will be like. Well, in this case, an "ice" day.
We will all do our part to pick up the cluttered house. I will turn into the Energizer bunny, cleaning the house to music, productive like never before. Maybe we will then all play a board game, and then perhaps a movie by the fireplace with hot chocolate.
Never in my wishes does it involve us prying Nerf darts out of the dog's mouth while the boys run screaming through the house with a new Mega Nerf bow in full attack mode, while I yell about protective eyewear.
It never involves fights between boys where one has another's toy in his room and won't open the door until the one brother says the other one is awesome.
None of my plans involve any of this.
And then my youngest, tells me he loves me and then tells our dog, Jack, how much he loves him. Then he comes in with his beloved collection of glass animals and sweetly plays with the tiny things on a little glass mirror.
Ahhh, precious moment.
And then...enter the maracas.
I'm not talking normal maracas. These are homemade maracas from a school instrument project. And just to let you know, they are literally as big as your head, made out of Powerade jugs, and seem to even hurt the dog's ears who begins to bark along with the maracas.
My breakfast is not the relaxing event I envisioned.
Followed by the requested video performance of my youngest throwing only the giraffe tush of a dog toy in the air to see if he can catch it by the tail.
Sorry...all tickets are sold out.
Then...my oldest comes out of his room and has done homework WITHOUT being asked.
I am feeling confident! I've clearly got his mom thing down!!!!
Then...I begin decorating for Easter, which sounds relaxing and nice...
UNLESS YOU HAVE TO BREAK UP YOUR BOYS FROM A FIGHT WHERE THEY ARE USING ONE OF YOUR PIER 1 DECORATIVE PILLOWS!!!!!!!!!!!!
Feeling like I most certainly do not have this mom thing down.
And then...silence...
Of course, this could be a bad sign, but I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.
I settle down on the couch and pick up a nail-biter of a mystery that I'm reading.
Almost through with the chapter, my boys summon me downstairs. "Just two more pages," I tell them.
When I go downstairs, they have a huge pallet of cushions, pillows, and blankets on the floor. The electric fireplace is going, the lights are dim, and they have a baseball movie we have never seen ready to play.
And as I'm lying on the floor, each boy snuggled up on either side of me, I remember that there are no perfect days.
But there are, most certainly, perfect moments.
