Historically, here in our historic town, the concept of a "snow day" has been met with mixed emotions.
On the one hand ... "No school? SWEET!"
On the other ... "WTF, we're going to be in school all summer!"
The way our calendar works, each snow day (or any other cancellation for that matter) must be made up at the end of the scheduled year. Once, when the roof of her antiquated elementary school was buried in snow and they feared it would collapse, my daughter was faced with so many days off that first grade would have to continue into July. In the nick of time, the school board realized that they would have to pay unbudgeted salaries and utilities, and they stopped the insanity on June 30th, to the delight of young and old.
However, like so many (so many!) other things, snow days are a little different when one is in one's senior year of high school. My daughter will graduate the second week of June, come hell or high snow banks, no matter how many extra days the freshmen, sophomores and juniors have to make up.
This means, of course, that her response to a snow day is one of sheer, abandoned, unequivocal joy.
This also means, Murphy's Law being what it is, that while we had seemingly countless snow days last winter, we had none this winter. Zip. Zilch. Zippo.
(And, of course, this finally means that life is "soooo unfair" and the world is out to get her. Because, these days, everything seems to lead to that same conclusion.)
At the end of last week, lo and behold, the phone by our nightstand went off and a lovely recorded message from the district's superintendent informed us that due to the incoming storm (it hadn't actually started yet), there would be ... wait-for-it ... no school!
The same message then came in on my mobile, my husband's mobile, and my office phone. Because that's the way we roll.
When she finally woke up (peacefully, with neither blaring alarm nor bellowing parent), my daughter was thrilled. She settled onto the couch with puppy on lap, cell phone in hand, and computer propped up a couple of cushions away. She ate chocolate chip muffins and watched back-to-back-to-back episodes of Grey's Anatomy.
Then she got bored.
Being a considerate mother, I made some suggestions. She could read. She could clean her room. She could review the article about which she was supposed to write a scholarship competition essay. She could apply for her Senior Project internship. She could pack for the trip we were about to take.
My ideas were not particularly well-received.
After much moping around, she grudgingly bundled up and took the dog for a walk. Then, although I was fairly certain (and correct it turned out) that our flight would be delayed, I insisted we leave for the airport early.
Thinking about the afternoon, I have to wonder. Should I have stopped everything and had a heart-to-heart with her? Should I have pointed out that maybe school was more interesting than she gave it credit for? Was this yet another teaching moment I somehow missed?
Nah. It was just a snow day.
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