Sky barf 2017

Moose Jaw Times Herald - - OPINION - Tammy Miller

Yes­ter­day morn­ing I woke up to my son rip­ping open the cur­tains in my bed­room to ex­pose the piles of snow that had fallen as we slept. I groaned qui­etly and rolled over with the pil­low over my head to block the white glare that projected from my win­dow.

For those of you who don’t know me, I strongly dis­like the first day of snow, which will now be re­ferred to as sky barf.

We moved to Moose Jaw two years ago from a place where the sky barf fell a lot. So the past two win­ters have been like a dream for me — a dream that feels like it has come to an end.

First of all, my nine-year-old would not get out of bed. He moaned and whined about all the snow out­side and that he hated school and he hated snow and he hated be­ing cold. He com­plained that he had noth­ing to wear and that he didn’t want to go out­side for re­cess and it went on and on and on. Fi­nally, some­thing he said made sense.

“I hate my win­ter jacket and I’m not wear­ing it.” Oh, My­lanta! Yes, Full House plays in our house ev­ery­day.

All the win­ter gear is still packed. This is where the chaos starts.

I jump out of bed — OK, so that’s a lie — I crawled out of bed. OK, that’s a lie too. I laid in bed and thought about where the win­ter gear might be, and even­tu­ally had it fig­ured out, and then I crawled out of bed.

The floor was cold so that was just a re­minder of the sky barf. And you know what? It’s not just sky barf. It’s sky barf that has un­der­ly­ing slush that you don’t even know is there un­til your boot is cov­ered with it. Any­way, I got ready and headed down­stairs to find the items I plan to sell when I move to Hawaii.

I went down to the base­ment to find the very or­ga­nized tubs of win­ter clothes that I had put away so nicely the year be­fore. Yes!

I was an or­ga­nized mother and a very happy one be­cause I was think­ing ahead. Af­ter gath­er­ing the items that I so neatly put away in an eas­ily found spot, I headed up­stairs and passed ev­ery­thing out.

Of course, the teenager was way too cool for win­ter clothes and ar­gued with me about hav­ing to wear it, and how it’s not that cold out and so he is just go­ing to wear his bunny hug and vol­ley­ball shorts.

This is the same child that ar­gued with me this morn­ing about how he didn’t want to get to school too early be­cause it was too cold. Go fig­ure.

I love my son, but pu­berty has se­ri­ously done some­thing to his brain. Sorry, snow barf causes me to go off topic some­times. Any­way, I passed out the items only to hear, “Mom, I need mitts!” That was it. This or­ga­nized, very happy mom who thought ahead and packed ev­ery­thing to per­fec­tion, could not re­mem­ber where she put all the mitts.

The last thing I re­mem­bered do­ing last sea­son, was wan­der­ing through my house gath­er­ing all the mis­matched mit­tens that were just thrown through­out our home. I swear, I even found them be­hind the toi­let, on top of shelves and the oc­ca­sional one in the gut­ters out­side. Again, off track.

Found the bag of mis­matched mitts and passed them out. Why can’t girls wear blue mitts? Why can’t you wear two right-handed mitts or two left­handed? It doesn’t mat­ter if those mini mitts be­long to a child who was here four years ago. Fine! Just use sock!

OK, ev­ery­one is dressed and we head out. Wait, where are my keys?

I tell the old­est to buckle the three­year-old into his seat and I will be right there. I re­move my boots and mitts and start scram­bling for the miss­ing keys. Just great. Found them a lot sooner than I had ex­pected. Put my boots and mitts back on and walk out the door… to find five chil­dren cov­ered in sky barf, in­clud­ing the one who didn’t want to go to school. Get. In. The. Car. There was sky barf ev­ery­where — on the seats, on the roof, in their hoods and all over their mis­matched mitts and hand socks. The truck was cold of course, be­cause the sky barf now re­quires us to warm our ve­hi­cles be­fore we drive away. Oh, and every boot was cov­ered with the sticky sky barf that had also col­lected dead leaves and rocks so when the sky barf melts those items will be all over my ve­hi­cle.

Fi­nally, we’re off, and I’m lis­ten­ing to the kids chat­ter in the back seat about their favourite things about sky barf and all the mem­o­ries that came with it. All fond mem­o­ries that brought my chil­dren to­gether in con­ver­sa­tion on the first day of snow in 2017.

That means 13-plus years of mem­o­ries, and for that I am so very thank­ful.

So, I ac­cept the sky barf and the cold, the mis­matched mitts, the bright glare that pro­jects from my bed­room win­dow, and the boots and jack­ets that I will re-or­ga­nize next spring in prepa­ra­tion for 2018.

I will post­pone my move to Hawaii and con­tinue to ar­gue with my teenager about proper win­ter at­tire. I will be out­side with all five of my chil­dren get­ting cov­ered in sky barf. All be­cause I’m a mom and that’s what moms do.

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