Not long ago, we had a snow day.
Along with the rest of the country.
But see, we live in northern Minnesota.
So we’re used to a little snow. I mean, it snows nearly every day. We have all snowmobiles. Dogsledders live in my backyard. Everyone had as plow attachment on the front of their four-wheel drive trucks.
Snow is not a big deal. (Sorry Tulsa. And Dallas. But to make you feel better, we melt when it gets to 70. Seriously. It’s not pretty).
So, I’m not sure WHOSE bright idea it was to call a snow day. I mean, no one asked my opinion.
It started out well. My middle linebacker decided he would be industrious and build a snow cave. Being a Warren, he never does anything small. One year he built a two chamber cave so deep it needed a doorbell. (those sticks are the handles of a post hole digger. We have all sorts of snow cave accessories at our house).
My daughter, not to be outdone, decided she would help. I had to describe what a shovel looked like, and she rooted around in the garage until she found one.
“Hey Pete! I found this cool thing-a-ma-bob. Maybe it’ll help!”
“Shovel? Like this?”
“Whoa, this is hard work.”
“But wow, I have some killer muscles!”
Snow Cave Kings.
So, after a while, I wonder how they’re doing. So I wander downstairs. Call outside. Nothing. Worry a little that they’ve been crushed under the snow. Decide to don my parka and hike out to the scene of the crime.
I am pulling on my Uggies when I hear laughter.
“Hey mom. It’s a snow day.”
I see that.
I’m just sayin’ that I think I need to be the Snow Day Commish. Because I’m thinking there might be a few mothers out there willing to haul out the SUV, put on the 4WD and drag these bums to school.
Whatever it takes.
Off to go hide in the snow cave….