It snowed in the Hama on Monday, about four inches, enough to effectively shut down the metropolis and dominate the national news. (I only heard that bit secondhand. I had kids at home for four days in a row, so I haven’t seen any grown-up TV lately. Unless you count Super Nanny or Wife Swap, which you shouldn’t. The kids like to watch that. I think they are researching pointers on how to maximize their badness.)
Monday just happened to be a holiday here, in spite of which HRH had to leave on a business trip. It started to snow around the time he left the house.
We spent a quiet morning inside, well as quiet as can be expected. Me First had been stuck inside most of the weekend with a fever, even though he felt strong as a horse and had the horsepower to prove it. By Monday, he was a wild stallion.
MIL called to see if we would be coming over. (No.) I told her we were getting ready to play outside, can’t talk now. Yadda yadda yadda.
Four minutes later, she shows up at my house.
Of course she doesn’t help with the monumental task of getting the children ready to play out in the snow. Every layer is a battle since they aren’t used to it.
Then she says to Me Too, “Don’t you have any gloves? Mittens are for babies.”
Up until that particular moment in the space/time continuom, Me Too was perfectly satisfied with those mittens. They’re warm. They’re pink. Most importantly, they’re waterproof.
But as soon as those heinous words came out of her busy body mouth, then the mittens would no longer do. Never mind the fact that waterproof gloves are not made in her size, or that the mittens she has even have zippers. They were now unacceptable.
MIL then began to insist that Me Too should wear dishwashing gloves.
I swear to god, you could not make this shit up.
On what nonsensical planet are adult dishwashing gloves more appropriate handwear for a five-year-old to play in the snow than waterproof, fleece-lined mittens?
To make matters worse, Baba would just not give up on the stupid dishwashing gloves. I warned her four times to stop taking Me Too’s mittens off in favor of those f’ing rubber gloves. If she’d have just left it alone already Daughter Dearest would have gotten over it, but as it was she was being constantly reminded of the offensive accessory and wouldn’t stop whining.
Such a fun outing, right?
Finally on the fifth attempted removal, I yelled at MIL not to touch my child again.
Not my finest moment.
I’m hoping to take a much needed break from the circus that is my in-laws this weekend, but we shall see.
This morning I noticed a magazine headline referring to “The Great Kanto Snow of 2013.” Really? Good god, I’m from Georgia, but I’m still like