February Stars

February...

The dreary, dank, denouement to another dim winter. The sun rises after seven every morning, gives us the middle finger and immediately heads for cover. At three in the afternoon the daylight is gone, the windchill is at some astronomical negative number, and I'm digging out our Christmas tree that has been buried under a snow bank since the 27th of December. The truck is covered with salt and dirt stains and the inside looks as though someone has taken a stank, diaper-filled garbage bag and emptied it into every crevasse. The floor mats are stained and discoloured, not to mention soaking wet. The kids have dropped every piece of food and drink they've had, which has now frozen to whatever part of the interior it's touching. Do I chip it off and leave remnants of an organic substance that will defrost sometime in March and funk up the inside, or do wait until it starts to thaw....wait I just stepped on a frozen banana end and now it's mashed into the sole of my boot.

The stairs are a death trap half frozen, half salted, all slippery. The little guy has just grabbed a solid piece of snow and rammed it into his mouth only to discover that grime\salt mix tastes awful. He collapses in green bin, which is also a solid mass, so they haven't picked it up in weeks. Off to the side of porch are last years toys, rakes, and coolers that are now cemented in blocks of ice. By the time I get inside, I'm annoyed at how many things of ours are ruined. I shake my boots at the door in the puddle that is our foyer. There are jackets, mitts, scarves, gloves, toques, snow pants, and hoodies spread almost as far as you can see. For the four of us to leave the house it takes roughly an hour! The closet is rammed with extra jackets, and hoodies, at least the stuff that hasn't been raided Barry Manilow. Of course after you get your boots\shoes off, it is inevitable that you step in a pool of freezing water, because there is so much of it that it's impossible to jump across. So you take off your socks, ball them up and add them to the ever growing pile at the bottom of the stairs. The damp, stale smelling mound is seeping into the carpet, which would bother you if the youngest hadn't already coloured a large patch in his sister's room purple. He's been couped up, it's hard to blame him.

Just pass the stairs, is a quick adjustment to the thermostat. After all it feels hot because you just took off 19 layers off clothes. The folded towels and shirts occupy the dinning room table, and dirty dishes fill the sink. It's too early to start drinking...or is it, it does look like it's 5:00 even though it's just after ten in the morning. The clean living room is disaster zone fifteen minutes after the kids awake, the Wii is making noise, and the XBOX has been on all night and now hums moderately. Shane's Facebook status brags about being able to run around the seawall. What a dick, he knows what it's like out here. For some reason I'm personally offended. Alex has placed most his HotWheels cars into the cut out of my good guitar, but has left the broken one untouched. The light burns out after flickering for three days. I scramble to read the numbers of the lotto tickets I found with hopes of a luau. No luck. I shoulda bought two Tim Hortons, I know I'll drink it. I guess I could clean the car, but it's too cold to wash it. I could clean my room, but It'll just get dirty, and I don't want to. I'd play Mario Cart, but getting my ass handed to me by a 6yr old is starting to really frustrate me. She sucks at hockey mind you. Alex says "EA SPORTS" but he can't say Mommy...I'm a bad parent, and apparently play too much hockey. When you live in Ontario, you have to play as the Leafs if you want them to win. A box of Fruit Loops just hit the floor with the pit-a-pat-a of tiny "O's" scattering under every appliance in the kitchen. I give half to Alex, and throw the rest into a bowl for myself. Elizabeth ate Tim Bits for breakfast again...

22 days to go