Two-Hour Delay

This morning our little school district has called a two-hour delay, so at 8:12 a.m. we cluster around our woodstove.  L (9) sits directly in front of the fire, reading a book of short stories, her "other" book before she delves back into fantasy.  We have agreed that instead of reading only books about dragons and magic, she will take turns with other types of books.  M (4) sits with her blanket and stuffed animal of the day (eagle) on the couch and twirls the Perplexus puzzle expertly in her sensitive fingers.  She takes great delight in creating shortcuts for the metal marble, jumping the rails to end up in the end-pocket, much to her sisters despair and glowering eyes.  N (almost 3) stands/runs/jumps on the couch, cheering on the Perplexus energy, giving me constant updates on its progress, and running Kleenex back and forth to his older sister, who experiments with delegation even at such a tender age. 

I assume that the delay is for the wind chill, (-10 F) as there is little visible snow on the road.  This is as a about as cold as we want it to get here in rural Ohio.  We aren't used to weather that compromises our cars' batteries.  It is easy this morning to believe that my day has a two-hour delay as well.  And so I decide to try my hand at blogging in this little window of opportunity, before the weight of housework sets in for the day.  Finish up laundry from yesterday, begin cleaning today, dress the children, gather wood, etc. 

One of the benefits of non-centralized heating is that the woodstove provides a natural gathering point for the family.  Like heat-loving bacteria around a sea floor vent, we prefer to be close to the source of warmth - and our mornings and evenings usually find us in close proximity.  (yes, we have a convenient backup natural gas furnace in the basement, but during the day our living room woodstove becomes our sole source of heat).  So on days like this one, we can feel the cold seeping into the house's edges; I am extra attentive in keeping the fire banked. 

I have found myself laughing more frequently and heartily in the last few weeks.  My wife wonders if I have reached some new level of zen - I tend to think I've learned to let more go, accept new levels of chaos and uncontrol.  Child #4 arrives in six weeks, give or take.  The existing three provide enough trial, angst and surprise for my heart.  They unseat my anger, and my complete adoration; exhaust my emotional self thoroughly and in every way.  The 9-year-old, while fiercely independent shows signs of care and tenderness.  The 4-year-old finally emerges from years of grumpiness to a wonderful delight and prank-filled robustness.  The two-year-old becomes deeply two, and experiments with tantrum and rebellion. 

 Mario Brothers