Last week was grueling. Well, OK, maybe “grueling” is a strong word. I didn’t plow any fields or anything. It was tiring, though. It snowed here again and B’s work was canceled for almost the entire week because the roads by his school 40 minutes away were so sketch. We couldn’t get out much because the roads close to where we live weren’t in great shape either, and even if we had ventured from our home, everything worth doing was closed.
Three people – one a toddler – in an apartment. All. Week. Long.
You kind of start understanding why people make such a big deal out of cabin fever.
I only realized that I’d lost hold of some of my marbles when the only trace of them was the dust cloud they whipped up on their way out. It was all well and good to see C experience snow that first day, peeking around the corners for hidden snowmen like the one from the beloved short film. But those precious moments don’t last. You eventually find that your adorable snow bunny is, in actuality, a tiny human climbing the walls and insisting that she doesn’t need an extra nap even though her nose is running like a faucet and she has a low grade temperature.
Baby knows best.
Our apartment felt especially small as she discovered that dumping out the contents of every single drawer, basket, and receptacle of any sort was a fine way to pass the time. I followed her around in a manic frenzy because, honestly, picking up after her was something to do. B looked at me like a was a lunatic for being so fastidious about picking up after her (and him, I might add), knowing that she’s TWO YEARS OLD and the mess will just beget other messes, but the kind of crazy that cleans up after a toddler is a cabin-fever crazy.
I finally had to get out of the house at some point because I was afraid I might lose it, so when either B or C – I’m not sure which – mentioned that we should make cookies for the snowman (aaaaaaw!), I put on a brave face and said I would venture out to the dreaded Walmart for cookie supplies. Dear lord, that was its own punishment. Every single other toothless soul in a 50-mile radius had had the same idea, and the lines in there reached all the way to the back of the store. I have been driven to do a lot of things out of desperation in my life, but going to Walmart in search of cookie supplies when the rest of the world was there too was by far the most frightening. Even in my state of shell shock, I knew to leave immediately rather than risk life and limb over chocolate chips.
The good thing, though, is that the melt was on by Saturday. My arches aren’t as sore this week since I don’t have to wear my snow boots. On Sunday we were able to get out and enjoy the balmy 40 degree temps that we had almost forgotten exist. In a way, it’s worth it to be snowed in for a week when you see the sun and the grass again. It’s all the more gracious.
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