So London got snowed on this week...in a BIG way. On Sunday night as a friend of ours lay languishing on our sofa, hinting that a home-cooked dinner wouldn't go amiss (my husband seconding that motion), I gazed lethargically out our big french windows, mesmorized by the gorgeous snowflakes falling heavily and blanketing the road.
I was completely indifferent to the idea of dinner (the monsters had already eaten and were being tucked into bed by Auntie Mo), due not so much to a lack of domestic prowess but rather the extra large helping of Ben & Jerry's I'd had for lunch earlier. So our friend, sensing a dead end to the culinary questioning, made a rather hasty exit and left me in peace to spend the next few hours staring in amazement at the beautiful snow falling outside the window. It was better than telly.
The next morning London closed down. Buses ground to a halt, schools were closed and millions of workers didn't show up for work. Of course Jay did, but he's the sort of guy who seems genuinely dismayed when he is in bed with a fever and forced to take his one sick day of the year. He is also the same guy that refused the offer to be signed off work after his knee surgery and insisted on hobbling in on crutches the next day. My how different we are.
So i didn't even bother trying to make him see sense, and instead bid him adieu as he went slipping and sliding up the street to maybe catch a train (if it was running) and then walk the rest of the way to work. (The next day everything was STILL closed and i threatened him with divorce if he rode his bicycle to work on the deadly black ice. He obviously found that an appealing notion as he chose to do just that and left me worried sick. Bad husband.
What's so amusing about all this chaos in London is that even though there were only several inches of snow, this city is ill equipped to handle anything out of the ordinary weather-wise, and it was the most snow that London had seen in 20 years. So you can't really blame the city for acting like a drama queen and shutting down so to speak. It was a fun reminder of our school 'snow' days growing up, when a particularly bad blizzard meant that homework could remain undone, bullies would have to wait for another day to torture you and that disgusting home made lunches could be exchanged for all manner of delicious treats - home made cookies being the least of them.
So in time honored tradition, the boys and I made (well i made, they ate most of the batter) peanut butter cookies, played with snowballs outside and generally had a cozy few days together. Dumpies amazement at the snow was classic when he woke up and pointed to the white wonderland outside and said reverently 'Wow!' Bless....
Anyway, Mr. Dumps is up from his nap, so that means it's time for me to put my maids uniform on and prepare to subjugate myself for the remainder of the day to his wishes. He's bossy but cute, and when I do his bidding is more than complimentary. What kind of job these days gives you such regular and heartfelt feedback as sloppy kisses and tight hugs?
Tonight Jay and I are both going out for the sole purpose of inebriation. Okay he has a reunion pub/club night with an old friend and I have a mothers' piss up at a local thai restaurant, but it all amounts to the same thing. Jay and I shall return later tonight the worse for wear, and with the faintest hint of having had that little bit too much to drink and of having probably said at least one inappropriate thing.
This being Britian however, such behavior is par for the course and shall be largely overlooked. If I can refrain from extolling the virtues of Zanax (or any other hard-to-obtain pharmaceuticals) to the other mothers in Egg's class, it shall make for a better show than the last dinner at any rate.
It's good to aim high.