Nate v Sam on a Snow Day

It had been a long weekend. President’s Day, so no school on Monday. Pretty standard. But to allow for parent-teacher conferences, the kids had a half-day on Thursday and a full day off from school on Friday, creating a four and a half day weekend. What a treat. 

And to really hammer the bleakness home, God gifted us record-setting low temperatures and tickled Kansas City with snowfall the entire weekend.   

But honestly, it didn’t bother me. It’s February. It’s cold anyway. We can sleep in, stay inside, eat comfort foods, sip hot chocolate, watch Baywatch. Glorious.

And the first days were just that—glorious. The boys had basketball and a steady stream of play dates, just enough interactions for those moments when your immediate family just isn’t cutting it for you. 

It started snowing again on Monday. As the temperature plummeted. A lot. Well below zero, even during the day. And yes, I mean degrees. And yes, I mean Fahrenheit. 

By midday on Monday, the school declared a snow day on Tuesday. And thanks to the threat of rolling blackouts from the energy companies, the schools couldn’t even be “virtual.” Some people lost power for several hours at a time. Meanwhile, pipes were freezing and bursting and many neighbors were without water. I mean, it wasn’t Texas, but for a first world country, it was a little uncomfortable. 

And it would have been dangerous to send the kids out to play in the snow. At one point, it was negative 9 degrees IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY. 

On Tuesday night, I received a few texts from other parents, “Do you think we’ll have school tomorrow?”

“I do,” I wrote back. And I did. I knew it was going to be cold again, but warmer than the day before, and the snow was tapering off. 

So the next morning, which happened to be Nate’s birthday, I woke up a tad earlier to make the lunches I had neglected to make the night before and found that school was canceled. 

Sighing, I sat down in the dining room to begin going through my emails while Kyle and Tighe puttered sleepily around the kitchen getting their breakfasts together. Tighe wakes Nate and Sam by 7:15, so it would be nice to let them sleep in a bit. Usually the sun is just creeping in through the blinds, so Tighe turns on their closet light to wake them up. Typically, Nate pops out of bed immediately and calls out his breakfast order. No time to waste. 

“Hey Dad!” he says, pulling on his hunter green uniform polo shirt. “I’ll have Cheerios and orange juice.”

Sam, meanwhile, needs more coaxing out from under the covers. Especially during the winter. He usually rolls away from the light, pulling the Sherpa blanket up over his face and pretends he doesn’t hear Tighe.

But that Wednesday morning, just a few minutes after I settled at the table, about twenty minutes after 7, we heard pounding down the steps from the third floor. Nate weighs less than 65 pounds, but somehow his diminuendo downstairs causes the entire house to vibrate. 

“Hey, Nate! Happy birthday!” I kept my voice low so the rest of the kids could enjoy sleeping in.

“Why did no one wake me up?” he was slightly confused, but mostly irritated, his palms facing the ceiling and his eyebrows furrowed.

“Another snow day. Happy birthday!” Tighe said, pulling bowls down from the cupboard. 

“What? Again?” He rubbed his temples with his fists and threw his head back in despair.

“On my birthday of all days. I’ve gotta tell Sam.” He turned and sprinted back up the steps. He’s one of those kids who does everything fast, at full speed.

Sam, on the other hand does nothing fast. He’s observing the world. Or thinking, distracted by some sort of scheme he’s concocting. Or something shiny. Or a squirrel.

And nothing adds weight to his boots like the doom and gloom of an impending school day. Eating his school day breakfast takes an eternity. Putting on his school socks takes another eternity. Add shoes, a backpack, coat, hat, mittens, and a mask and you’re talking eons of slowness. 

He actually likes school. He likes his friends and his teacher and tackling scholastic challenges, but more than anything, Sam likes doing what Sam wants to do, so he’d rather stay home and play with Legos or paint or build something out of shoeboxes. And so he drags his feet in the morning, delaying the inevitability of a day of being told what to do.

To sum up this post, here’s a picture from three and a half years ago.

“Watch,” Tighe said under his breath, “Sam will be down here in record time, fully dressed, and eager to get his snow day started.”

And he was right. 

Just as Tighe finished that statement, Sam’s lanky body slid down the steps like a slinky cheetah, and he was already slipping socks onto his feet.

“Amazing,” I gasped. 

“Sam! How’d you get down here so fast? What do you want for breakfast?”

“What do YOU want for breakfast?” he replied.

And thus began his day of Legos, hot chocolate, marshmallows, puzzles, board games, some sort of imaginary friend made of ice which he’s stored in our basement freezer, a joke book, being a smartass, a turkey sandwich soaked in spicy mustard—just the way he likes it, and some other obligatory tasks we imposed on him: putting his clean clothes away, completing a basketball workout, reading a real book, and having a glance at his spelling words for the week.

That night, I was in the kitchen preparing their lunches for the following day. 

“Oh, you’ll definitely have school tomorrow!” I said, confidently dolloping more spicy mustard onto Sam’s turkey sandwich before tucking it into his Bento box.

And I was right.

The next morning, right at 7:15, Tighe crept up to the third floor to wake up Nate and Sam. 

Nate bolted upright immediately. “We have school today??! YESSSSSS!”

He was down the steps in a flash, scooping cereal into his mouth and talking with excitement about how much he missed his friends and his teacher and other nonsense that everyone else was too sleepy to reply to. 

Clad only in his underwear, Sam rolled down the steps like a boulder going uphill, then shuffled over to his spot at his cereal bowl, where he zoned out in front of the TV for several minutes.

“Sam!” Tighe began barking his rhythmic prompts that are probably more habit than anything. “Take a bite! Put your pants on! Now your shirt! Take another bite! That wasn’t a bite, take a big bite! Put a sock on! Now your other sock! Take another bite! Where’s your other sock! Where are your shoes?”

On a school day, every single little step is micromanaged. It’s bureaucratic bullshit, as far as Sam’s concerned. 

Dealing with the man like…

Meanwhile Nate is chomping at the bit to get out the door and get to school. His breakfast was finished twenty minutes ago and he’s been waiting by the back door with his coat and backpack on ever since, dangling Sam’s mask and lunchbox for him. 

More on Sam’s approach to school next week. Not only because he took two personal days this week, but also because one of his classmates just tested positive, so he’s about to have two weeks of virtual learning. Yay, pandemic.