Sunday, February 7, 2010: Snowed In

Since the Blizzard of 2010 has caused the D.C. metro area to grind to a halt, we've got plenty of time to pursue our own personal projects around here. Mike is shoveling more snow than he's ever tackled at one time, I'm working on the site, Michael continues in his quest to build "the longest train in the world," and Rowan has just about managed to fit her entire fist in her mouth. The storm, which I've seen variously referred to as "Snowpocalypse," "Snowmageddon," and my personal favorite, "SNOMG!!," dumped 32.4 inches of white stuff on us. Fortunately, I had been able to make a Costco-Target-Wegman's run earlier in the week (before the crazy crowds hit), so we were well stocked with milk, bread, eggs, chocolate, diapers, wipes, paper goods, toiletries, and current prescriptions. Now we're just praying that our power doesn't go out.

I'm not so thrilled about being trapped inside for what looks to be the better part of a week. We were just recovering from our last period of stir-crazies, and I'm ready for spring to come. But if we're going to get snow, it might as well be exciting and historic. And on Friday morning, I had just wrapped up the process of registering Michael for preschool next year at a great church-based school in Leesburg, an answer to our prayers for a good place for him. I even got to have a lovely hour of coffee with a friend before I had to go home, just as the snow started to come down in earnest, so at least things got started on a positive note.

I envy the people we know who can spend the snowstorm curled up in a blanket on a couch with hot chocolate and a good book. Our days of that kind of leisure aren't going to return for a long, long time. But we've had other fun: Michael couldn't wait to get outside to play, so much that he didn't even care that the snow was still falling. He went wild (or what passes for wild in our cautious little boy) and came back inside soaked and red-cheeked. I could see him out the front windows as I once again made endless circuits around the coffee table in the living room trying to comfort a disgruntled baby.

Other than the snow, there have been a few other notable moments around our house. Rowan has been meeting milestones in her development: her smiles have become more frequent, and she now schedules happy time for a few minutes after every feeding. She likes to lie on her back and smile at whoever is leaning over her, and if we ask, "Rowan, can you talk?," she'll burble back. This can go on for a surprisingly long time -- I have had more than a few extended conversations with her about current events, though I'm not sure she has the most informed opinions. She's most voluble right before she lets rip a giant poop, with noises that it's hard to imagine can come from such a dainty little girl. I'm sure she wants us to think that her simultaneous chattiness and diaper-dirtying are coincidence, but I think she's really just trying to create a diversion.

Michael, meanwhile, provides endless entertainment for us with the unintentionally funny things that come out of his mouth. He's such a skillful talker that it's easy to forget that he's only two and a half (when he's not throwing a tantrum, that is), until he says something almost-but-not-quite right. He's been practicing using a few phrases lately, incorporating them into almost everything he says, regardless of context. They include "by the way" ("Michael wants a cheese sandwich, by the way"), "surely" ("Michael surely loves his Lightning McQueen race car!"), "after a few whiles" ("We can go outside after a few whiles"), "phyusical therapy" (pronounced to rhyme with "musical therapy"), and "Hmm ... I have never heard of ___ before." He also sometimes startles us by the surprisingly adult-sounding statements he will toss out at odd moments. I gave him a simple cheese-and-bread sandwich for lunch one day when he suddenly declared, "This is so yummy I can hardly believe it!" (So much for elaborate meals, I decided.) And the other morning as he was puttering around with his trains, he looked up at me with concern and stated, "Mommy, you seem a little tired."

He is most fun to listen to, however, when he's deep in imaginative play with his cars, trucks, and trains. He pushes them around while lying on the floor, making up complicated storylines that he narrates as he goes. If my hands are free, I try to record as much as I can verbatim, because I find them quite amusing. I'll leave you with the latest one, a point-by-point retelling of Dr. Seuss's "The Zax" and Arlene Mosel's "Tikki Tikki Tembo," starring his Mater trucks:

Once upon a time a long, long, long time ago there was a north-going Mater and a south-going Mater. Then they came to a place where they bumped! [He crashes his trucks together.] There they stood, wheel to wheel, face to face, then the highway was built, and then they built it right over the blue Mater and brown Mater and left them in the place where they bumped. [Crashes trucks again.] Once upon a time a long, long, long time ago there was a mother who had two little sons. Once she had a son called Brown Mater, which meant "little or nothing." And she had another son named Blue Mater, which meant "the whole most honored thing in the whole wide world." Then she remembered a new friend called another Mater, which means "the most thing in the whole wide world." [I missed something here about what the Maters did to get in trouble and how the mom went and got the monster truck to help them.] Then the mother went away and there were no more sons around here, just Michael's Maters. Here's the barn where they stay and rest and close the door.

"I'm going to go in there and I can rest. And you guys close the door."

"Oh, I can't fit in there," said the monster truck.

... And I guess they all lived happily ever after.

Post or Read Comments