Is there anyone (besides drivers of bus and municipal plow alike) who doesn’t like a snow day or at least a delay on account of the white stuff? All the kids and adults I like live for the moment where their school’s name flashes across the bottom of the television screen like a really favorable stock quote. What I didn’t know is that by dressing like the ‘90s rap duo Kris Kross, you can help that magical dream of a snow interruption become real. In mid-December, the middle and southwestern portions of this complicated nation were abuzz with the news of an impending snowstorm. At my house, that translates into my daughter Poppy chattering on the phone with her tween confederates Emily and Sarah about the best locale to sled and what to wear while doing so. The idea of a lengthy three-way call between girls who have yet to secure firm employment irked me, so I grabbed two pots and acted the role of irate father, banging metal on metal and creating a form of mumbling profanity that the lovechild of Lil’ Kim and David Mamet would be happy to adopt.
“My friends think you’re weird,” Poppy said after hanging up with her Ya Ya sisterhood.
I opened a beer of the winterfest variety. “Tell them to get in line.”
“Will you take us sledding tomorrow?”
“Who are you, Nostradamus? You don’t know if they’ll be a snow day.”
Poppy dashed away to begin her daughter dearest routine of washing, brushing, flossing, rinsing and when she came out, I saw that her pajamas were on inside out.
“Taa-Daa!” she exclaimed, cranked up like that impossible-to-escape kid from Little Miss Sunshine (without the fat suit).
“Are all the light bulbs burned out?” I asked, examining the tags on her wardrobe.
“Very funny. Every kid knows that to get a snow day, you need to wear your PJs like this.”
“Like a blind man?”
“Not very politically correct. Besides, I’m a girl, remember?” She headed into the kitchen and returned with a soupspoon in her hand.
“Let me guess. You need to drink from the toilet for your crazy voodoo to work?”
She rolled her eyes. “The final step is to put a spoon under your pillow.”
“Makes sense. In Bizarro World.”
After Poppy recruited her unsuspecting brother London to join her Stalinesque clan by turning his clothes wrong side out and planting a ladle under his Spiderman pillow, we said our goodnights sans Santeria.
In the morning, I saw a few inches of snow covering the lawn tools still not put away so I went to the TV and waited patiently for all the schools I’d never heard of to roll by. Sure enough—two-hour delay—so I told Lala that we had a rare chance to catch up on our sleep. The kids had been particularly difficult to wake since the time change in the fall so we were both looking forward to some rest for the wicked.
Two minutes later, London yelled, “Hey Dad!”, and jumped on the reproductive portion of my side of the bed.
“Lon-don, school is delayed because of the snow.”
“Ok.” He shrugged. “Can you put cartoons on and make me a peanut butter sandwich, cut into fours?”
Poppy followed soon behind rubbing her eyes in that phony way kids do when they know that they’re shortening your life expectancy by a few years.
“Why are you awake? Was the fabric meant for the outside irritating your skin?”
“My nose was stuffed up.”
“Both of you wait for me in the living room. Git!” I barked. Still under the covers, I started peeling off my T-shirt and pajama bottoms, which naturally frightened the hell out of my wife.
“What are you doing?”
“Turning my clothes inside out. If it works for a snow day, it just might get the kids to stay in bed a little longer.”