The Red, Plastic Ring (or Let it Go)

A blizzard whipped through Minnesota on Thursday and Friday.  Schools closed, windshields turning into blank pages, vegetation frosted and heavy, cars swishing their rear ends at stop signs.  Inside our house, wadded Kleenx on the end tables and couch arms, on top of the microwave and beside the laundry basket on the carpet.  The good news is that no one is desperately sick.  The bad news is that we all seem to have the same cold--runny nose, cough, sluggish, crabby--so at any given moment, snot is always being wiped from someone's face. 

We all went to Target today.  Thisbe rode standing at the front of the cart.  I bought a latte at the Starbucks inside and I was so incredibly happy when they offered me a small red, plastic, ring that you can attach to your cart to hold your coffee cup.  What an amazing invention.  Thank you, whomever did that.  (I also give thanks for the lovely friend who had Thisbe over for a playdate yesterday when school was closed.  And for the fact that both you and your sister are currently napping.  AND--also renewing my faith in God--for Bethel's Parents Night Out from 3:30-7:30 today.  Hallelujah.)

While I shoveled the eight inches of sow, your father took photos.  Which was especially cruel considering I only seem to have one leg.

Your sister seems to have lost all the coping mechanisms she learned over the past year.  I said she couldn't have cheesy noodles for lunch and she burst into tears.  Daddy said he wouldn't move the small IKEA table for her until she asked nicely (rather than commanding) and she burst into tears.  When she asked for a second PBJ sandwich and I told her she had to finish her hard boiled egg first she burst into tears.  (Well, actually, first she said, "FINE.  THEN I WILL MAKE THE SANDWICH MYSELF."  and I said, "OK, go ahead" and she screamed through her squinty bloodshot eyes "BUT I CAN'T MAKE THE SANDWICH MYSELF.")  Meanwhile, after not pooping for a week, you released a BM of epic proportions.  So much of it was on your back and so little in your diaper that it truly seemed like you'd released the poop out of your 10th vertebrae (T3 vertebrae?  I don't know what I'm talking about).  But I had to balance your naked body on the edge of the sink while Daddy washed your back.  And over the shirrrrr of the water and the screams emanating from Thisbe's room, the sound of the Frozen soundtrack, (Kristen Bell singing "love is an open DOOOOORRRR!!!") which we bought at Target because, well, fuck.  I give up.