Down here in the South, we’re not used to being snowed in.
Well, we are, but normally by snow we mean sunshine and by snowed in we mean enjoying the warm, sunny day. But I’m guessing it’s not really the same thing.
Anyway, the Great Blizzard of 2014 lasted from a Tuesday through a Saturday, which was when even the most timid person could drive on roads that had most recently been covered by snow and ice.
So, the other day, I was talking to some of my fellow survivors and we were discussing our various problems that surfaced when we couldn’t leave the house for almost four whole days.
With no further ado, I bring you one of those stories. I warn you, it’s not for the meek at heart, the timid nor the easily frightened. It contains instances of cannibalism* too frightening to be discussed in polite company.
Allow me to introduce Henry Tudor, who works as a freelance educator here in Charlotte. He’s a young dad, with two kids. His youngest is a little dude, who is about 2 years old. His first child, a young dudette, is about 4 years old.
“I got home Monday night and couldn’t leave the house until Saturday when I started calling people up and begging them to see if they needed to meet anywhere.
I mean, don’t get me wrong. It was fun. We made snow forts, built snowmen and threw snowballs and all that stuff. But we were basically stuck inside for four days. And that’s inside for four days with two kids under 5 years old.
It seemed like all I was doing all day, every day, for all those snow-in days was picking stuff up. I would pick up one batch of stuff, get it squared away, then turn around and find another completely different batch of stuff scattered all over a different room. I almost got to the point where I was seriously considering that they were doing it on purpose, that they were out to get me.
As bad as all these messes were, nothing will beat what my son did.
I was putting away another armful of toys and stuff when he darted off behind my back to the pantry. There he got out a bag of those cheese crunches, like Cheetos. He ran to the couch and emptied the entire bag all along the length of the couch.
Then he stripped naked and started dancing all up and down on the Cheetos-filled couch.
I had a hard time getting angry about it because I was laughing so hard. It just made no sense. I asked him why he did it and he just looked up at me, completely innocent and shrugged. He had no idea. I guess it just seemed a good idea at the time.
I mean, it drove me crazy, but, I had to admit, as performance art, it was definitely next-level stuff.”
I’m happy to report that mother, daughter, son and father all made it through the experience only a little the worse for wear. The couch mostly cleaned up and the son had a nice midnight snack between his toes for the next day or so, which made him happy.
That, ladies and gentlemen, is kids in a nutshell. Not just dain-bramaged adults, but completely alien beings, who only happen to look like chubby, little adults.
*No, it doesn’t. I lied about that, mostly just for the lulz. I mean, the idea of a giant Cheeto eating a bunch of little Cheetos and it can’t stop. . . That’s comedy gold. Too bad I didn’t actually include anything about that in the post.