I made the mistake earlier in the week announcing to my daughter that snow was in the forecast this weekend.
I wont do that again. She’s 3 and doesn’t understand ” in 10 minutes” let alone “in 3 days”. I showed her the wall calendar and put a big snowflake on Saturday. It was only Wednesday. I thought she was starting to get it, but then Thursday morning happened:
me: *snore snore*
bedroom door bursts open
small feet pad to my side of the bed
“Mommmmeee!!! I slept all the night!”
*crack open one eye*, “great job, honey!”
“Is it snowin’ yet?!!”
sits on the floor and wails while beating her fists into the carpet
“Why it’s not SNOWING?!!!!”
well good morning to you, too.
“Honey, two more sleeps and then it’s Saturday.”
By Friday morning she had forgotten all about it.
Saturday NIGHT it finally began snowing around 7, 30 minutes before bedtime. Excitement was permeating the house, but they had to wait til the morning to go out and play in it. Dad’s rules: you must sleep in your bed all night AND you must wait until we come get you in the morning
I often wonder where dads get their ideas of achievable parenting theories
Sunday morning, 7am two pairs of feet come tearing into our room. “There’s snow ALL OVER THE PLACE!”
I was already awake, so I placated them. Grumpy husband, however, grumped at them it was too early and we had to wait a little longer.
I’m painting this grey/tan/khaki picture of joyousness because after all of that, you would think these kids would be beside themselves with excitement when their little mitten-clad boogie fingers actually got to touch the snow.
The whole way to the sledding hill there was whining and complaining and moaning about anything and everything. What. the. hell?!
My daughter, Miss Impatience wanted to go back home after 10 minutes.
I obliged. Go ahead and twist my arm to go have hot coffee and watch from the covered porch. I dare ya.
Maybe i’ll have them try to sled in the rain instead and see how long that joy lasts.