Frigid Temps. Frozen Jeans. Fortunate Chaos.
Ah, life in the Midwest, it’s all Norman Rockwell up in here. Kids frolicking in the snow, parents making huge cups of cocoa to sip by the fire, and animals sitting on warm laps after hours spent outside. There might even be joyful, bright red cardinals singing as they fly by the kitchen windows of my neighbor’s and fellow Minnesotan’s houses. Total sweet ass perfection. There are endless smiles, and laughter fills the halls. Every room in every house, and every glimpse outside, captures yet another precious memory to file in the ever expanding cabinet of life.
Ha, got ya! In this Polar Vortex, or whatever they are calling this BS, there ain’t no perfect moments. It’s way too cold for sledding, and come to think of it, the birds might actually be dead. Haven’t seen or heard one in days. Let’s hope birds hibernate, or sleep in a pile, and will wake up in a day or two feeling hungover and pissed off—but grateful to have escaped frozen death. God I hope the Bird Box darkness isn’t imminent, because I’m not sure we can survive that without the birds. That would be another kind of awful. Because this just ain’t bad enough already,
Instead of all that awesomeness, we are instead surrounded by a whole lot of boredom, endless video games, forbidden snacks (if they were already in the house), and a deep desire to do anything to keep the caged children from fighting. In the past two days there may have been 12 hours of Fortnite played in our basement. I couldn’t really tell you, or confirm the amount of time wasted, but I do know this—there were no tears. From any of us. For this I am grateful Fortnite exists, and iPads are a thing. There, I said it. I’m grateful for Fortnite. Which is saying a lot, for I can assure you no mom has ever actually been grateful for Fortnite. Until now. Because it’s awful, and we hate it. But not the last few days. Fortnite was clearly invented for this week. Praise God. Thank you to the Universe. And perhaps a little shade to you, Mother Nature.
There have been brave souls who left their houses on great adventures to Target, or risky expeditions to the mall, and proudly lived to tell the tales. I salute their bravery. But those outings are not for me. I’m sitting here with my kids, and two extras, because you couldn’t pay me to leave and risk my van breaking down in -45 degrees, or whatever fresh hell temperature it is out there. I saw at least four posts on Facebook about cars that wouldn’t start, cars that stalled out at the gas station, and cars in the ditch. My only thought is—oh hell no, not with four kids in the car. Nope. Not gonna happen. I’m too lazy for that. And my brood would freak out at the first sign of fear. So we will sit here, in the same pajamas we wore to bed two nites ago, eating whatever we happen to find in the pantry, playing endless video games, and being grateful we have a warm place to land.
Which brings me to last nite, when our power flickered off in -26 degree temps, and downright frigid wind chills. We were colder than Antarctica. I was mildly panicked. Then our power went completely off for 30 minutes, and I actually started to panic. Or at the very least had a few moments of, “what next?” It was the most adulting I had done in quite a while. Not because I was worried, but because my son was scared, and I felt it. I knew we could pack up and head to my sister’s house, but the idea was unsettling. Frozen pipes were looming.
One of my first thoughts after the power outage lasted more than 10 minutes, when I realized we might need to actually pack up and leave, was, “Oh no, Jimmy could die if the cold air even hits him.” I was worried that the damn Gecko I objected to buying—and refuse to feed or care for because it involves meal worms and crickets—would die in the cold, or lose his tale from stress. Taking that poor thing outside would have been disastrous. Leaving him in a house with no heat, equally so. There I sat in the dark, surrounded by candles and flashlights, worried about a 2 ounce Gecko named Jimmy.
Turns out I’m a better mom than I realized.
Thankfully, we didn’t have to leave. Jimmy is fine. Our cat Doodle never faced the injustice of a van ride. And we all woke up safe in our beds. And today, to break the monotony of these long days, and feelings of claustrophobia—we ventured outside. For twenty minutes. Why? We froze pants in frigid temps, for entertainment. Call it our next family portrait. Look for it as a holiday card next December. Whatever, we survived. We did it for amusement. We needed to laugh.
Tomorrow we face a other day off of school. And thankfully the temps must eventually rise—because subzero or not, we gotta bust outta here. My kids need a reason to change their underwear. And I need a reason to wash my hair. Rumor has it temps could reach -2, virtual shorts weather in Minnesota. Tomorrow we fire up the van, and will hit the road with giddy anticipation .
Unless the van doesn’t start. In which case, send help.
Recipe for freezing your jeans:
-Move to Antarctica. Or Minnesota. Maybe Wisconsin, Go Big Red!
-Wet your pants.
-Freeze your pants.
WARNING: Do not wear the pants you want to freeze.
