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There's Snow Place Like Home
by Cheryl Gochnauer

"Blue Springs. Lee's Summit. Grandview. Olathe.."  

As the names of local school districts scroll across the bottom of the screen, the announcer confirms what I suspected when I peeked out the blinds at dawn.  No classes today.

With a whispered "Yes!", I turn off the TV and jump back in bed.  Snuggling deeper under the covers, I savor yet another benefit to being a stay-at-home mom.  I don't have to get out in that wintry mess!

Instead, I anticipate a day of hot chocolate and games with the girls.  But first, another blissful hour of sleep..

A tiny set of tiger houseshoes pads across the carpet. With a sleepy half-grin, Carrie burrows her way under the comforter, tosses and turns a couple of times, and then gently snores.  My own eyes flutter shut as I remember..

When I worked full-time, a school closing announcement had a much different effect on our family.  Instead of tranquility, the house roared with frantic Plan B's.

Hopefully, a backup sitter could be arranged without too much trouble.  But I hated taking the kids out in frigid cold, even after bundling them up like mummies.

Then there was the drive, or should I say crawl, to work.  It seemed everyone on the interstate was either a snail-paced Southerner who had never seen snow, or some reckless redneck who scorned wimps maneuvering ice at under 80 mph.

I approached hills and stop signs with apprehension, as the dashboard radio churned out accident reports.  By the time I reached the office, I had to pry my clinched fingers off the steering wheel.

Exiting the building nine hours later, I join the throng of frozen-breathed co-workers scraping ice off windows and dislodging gunk from wiper blades. Inching out of the slippery parking lot, I pass whining, spinning tires and men jogging for jumper cables.

Reaching the interstate, I again switch on the radio.  Everything's backed up.  Interchanges are clogged.  Alternate routes are jammed, too.

Glancing at the clock, my stomach churns.  I visualize the sitter, arms crossed and determined to charge me a mint for arriving past 6 p.m.  At this rate, I won't get home until 8 p.m.

A light appears on the dash.  "LOW FUEL."  It's a nightmare.

And, as I awaken, I realize it really is a nightmare.  I've been dreaming, my extra hour of sleep spent spinning old tapes.

Karen stirs in the other room.  A few moments later, she's under my comforter, too, unwilling to let Carrie monopolize Mom.  Wrapping an arm around each of my babies, I smile.  Rain, sleet or snow, I love being a stay-at-home mom.

If you'd like to read other Homebodies articles, visit Cheryl's Website.

copyright 2003 by Cheryl Gochnauer - All rights reserved.

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