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Tag Archives: snow

guest blogger: Cheryl Conway-Nelson

27 Wednesday Jan 2010

Posted by Jane Bretl in Motherhood

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

Cheryl Conway-Nelson, guest blog, snow

Today’s guest post is from woman-extraordinaire Cheryl Conway-Nelson.  I am not sure how to spell ‘extraordinaire’, and when I looked it up in the dictionary, it was not there:  it should be, sandwiched between extracurricular and extrasensory.  Her picture would be in there too, next to the definition, for balancing five kids, volunteerism, community causes, political activism, sweetness-meters and lots of wet socks.  I don’t know where she manufactures time (I suspect in her basement) but I would sure like to find out.  Since we finally received another dusting of snow here, it is time to share her thoughts on the white stuff.

I met Jane three years ago when I had the good fortune to be redistricted to
a new school.  She and I have a lot in common.  We both have brown hair,
wear glasses and totally rock the motherly figure.  We both jumped into
being first year Lego Robotics coaches.  We both have 6th grade boys with
similar interests.  We’re both northerners, and we share a friendly Bears v.
Packers rivalry.  (Bears Rule!)

We do have our differences too.  Jane is an amazing gardener.  I choose
garden flora designed by God to be unkillable. (not azaleas or hydrangeas
FYI).  She is a Cheesehead and I am a FIB.  And Jane is the nicest, most
sweet person I know.  On the sweetness meter, I’m in the negative numbers.
So when the topic of guest blogging came up while chaperoning on a bus ride
to the Cincinnati Museum Center, I should have known she would follow
through.

(Ed. note: “eventually”.)

So here I sit contemplating a topic when I happened to read Jane’s recent
entry about snow.  Then it hit me. Nowhere does our divergence on the
sweetness meter become more apparent than in looking at snow.  Jane looks at
the beautiful snowflakes and sees a peaceful snow globe.  I look at them and
see 10 wet boots, 10 wet gloves, 10 semi wet gloves, 5 wet hats, whatever
wet clothes their friends leave behind, at least 2 kids crying that they
can’t feel their *insert valuable appendage here* and puddles on parquet and
Pergo.  Oh the puddles.  With five kids, a snow day is a nightmare.  Winter
shock and awe.

For the record, I love snow.  Some day I imagine I will again appreciate the
inherent beauty of a peaceful snowfall like I used to, but not now.  I’ve
got to get back to loading the dryer and mopping the puddles.

Thanks Jane for giving me an opportunity to dust off the English major and
take her for a spin!

Thank you Cheryl, for stopping by with what sure sound like awfully nice words.  It is reassuring to see that the facade of sweetness* I try to keep propped in place is still standing (although with five kids I suspect that you are too busy to notice when it is askew.)

*and for the record, Bears drool.

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almost dark

26 Tuesday Jan 2010

Posted by Jane Bretl in Motherhood, seasons

≈ 12 Comments

Tags

darkness, sledding, snow, snow days, sunset, winter

Late one afternoon, two boys came bounding off the school bus, ready to head to the sledding hill.  The snow was perfect, and they wanted to take in every minute of daylight.  Contrary to the number of “snow days” we have here, there is not that much snow;  between the icy-snow, the too-wet-slushy-snow, and the quickly-disappearing-snow, sledding days are few and far between.

I have never seen these two fine young people get dressed for the outdoors so quickly and efficiently.  Usually someone can’t get a boot over his scruppled sock, or can’t do this or something-or-another, but that day it was effortless.

“Have fun!  Just be back before dark,” I called after them as they grabbed the sleds from the garage, already at a full sprint.

The Professor came back at what could arguably be the most exact definition of ‘before dark’, as if he had taken the precise time of sunset, the current moon phase and amount of cloud cover into consideration when determining his entrance.  He came through the door just as darkness appeared to fall on that white snow.

After the typical pleasantries were exchanged, I inquired “Where’s your brother?”

“He didn’t think it was dark yet.”

Now at this point, I was just curious.  When, exactly, would The Little One think it was dark?  If this wasn’t dark, what was???  This sounded like a loophole, and finding loopholes is one of his specialities.

5:45 rolled around, then 6:00, then 6:15.  From my biased view in the warm kitchen (actually cooking dinner), it still looked quite dark outside to me.  Finally at 6:20, he came bursting in the door.  “That was so FUN!  The snow was perfect!  Yada, yada, yada blahblahblah……”  I wasn’t listening.  I had morphed into Mrs. PotatoHead with my angry eyes on.  Not because it was that late, or that I was worried about his safety, because I wasn’t — it was that he had blatantly disobeyed my instructions to be home before, well, you know.

“But, Mom — it wasn’t really dark yet!”  It was his story and he was sticking to it.  Like I could not look out the window with my Mrs. PotatoHead interchangeable accessories and see night for myself.

After a discussion of consequences for his less-than-stellar choice toward darkness-perception, we settled into a fine evening.

A fate would have it, the next evening I found myself outside at 6:15.  Inside, as I bundled up in my coat and gloves, a cursory glance out the window and I knew it was dark.  “I know dark when I see dark, mumble grumble…” I muttered under my breath as I opened the garage door and stepped outside into the crisp night air.  But out there on the driveway under the clear sky?  Umm, I have to say, it wasn’t what I thought.  I saw the last pink ribbons of sunset on the western horizon.  At 6:15.

Now, I love how the Professor is so literal.  His desire to follow the rules lends me a (probably false) sense of security as we coast into these teen years.  Somehow I feel I will have less to worry about with him when he is in high school.  I like knowing what to expect from him, and he feels the same way about me.

But I also love how The Little One is so full of surprises… How to squeeze a little more fun out of the moment.  How he can fly by the seat of his pants, even down the sledding hill.  How when it is almost dark, it isn’t quite dark yet, exactly.

These two boys, the ying and yang, they both remind me every day that no matter how dark it may look at first glance, it is never quite as dark as it seems.  And even if it was, I’d be fine as long as I have them bursting through the door.

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jane, candid

In 2009, I started this blog to share my sometimes thoughtful, sometimes funny, occasionally irreverent thoughts on motherhood, writing for publication and myriad creatures that got along as cats and dogs.

One day, I felt like stepping away from living out loud for awhile. Eh, life happens.

Fast forward five years -- I'll gloss over the details for now -- save to say that lucky for me an unexpected detour has provided some new material.

So here I am, standing at the corner. I've been here before, wondering which way to go. This time I choose living.

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