So this morning I wake up to the news of an impending snowstorm…well, I actually heard it last night during a commercial break of “Dirty, Sexy, Money” but I was distracted by the eye candy that is Peter Krause.

A snowstorm in mid-December makes me think only one thing, Dang it!

Not exactly a holiday sentiment, but now my carefully planned pre-holiday-turbo-mode of a day is turned willy-nilly and I am forced to stealthily reshuffle the day’s tasks.

As my husband heads out the door for work showered and cheery, he shouts excitedly to the kids, “Lots of snow coming guys! We’re going sledding this weekend!” I suppress the urge to whip a spoonful of oatmeal at his noggin.

After my daughter finishes her terrible-twos morning melt-down, “MOMMY I WANT PRETZELS!!!” at 6:52 am, I rework the line-up:

• Christmas cards must now get mailed today - before “the storm” comes. Because in my overloaded, over-caffeinated mind somehow I fear the U.S. Postal Service is going to shut down indefinitely, leaving me with the 100+ Costco cards that include a painfully orchestrated picture of my children with new sweaters, coiffed hair and good lighting. And, my 100+ cards have holiday stamps that I had to use instead of the boring lighthouses I already had…because you know, my lovely aunts in Alabama will notice if the stamps aren’t seasonally appropriate.
• I decide I should also hand-deliver our Christmas Eve open house invitations to my neighbors before “the storm.” Hand-delivering will save me $2.46 in postage, yet I just spent $47 in shipping on Amazon.com. Which, by the way, I find entirely justifiable.
• I now have to cancel my afternoon mother’s helper, a sweet young woman who was going to come to my house after school so that I could enjoy the solitude of my office downstairs. The quiet haven that is my computer and my email and my world wide web. My regrouping cave.
• Something in my overstuffed china cabinet (it doubles as our land of misfit, too small, broken and otherwise unsafe toys) is rattling. Something is clanging every time I plod by and it might just drive me out of my gourd in the next 10 seconds!!!!!
• “THE STORM” IS COMING, MY AFTERNOON RELIEF IS NOT AND MY CHINA CABINET IS MOCKING ME. I must now go to the gym to reduce my already heightened anxiety level. While I treadmill, crunch, lift and squat my way to a more relaxed state (and hopefully a tighter backside) my toddler duo will get to play in the gym babysitting room for a full hour.
• It’s time to come to the realization that for the second year in a row, I will not have time to finish decorating the cute Christmas stockings my mom started for us last year. They’re red felt, and a replica of the ones she made back in 1970-something. The ones she painstakingly embellished with hand-cut felt shapes of snowmen, flowers and teddy bears. I swore I would get them done this year and carry on the tradition. My chances of making it to the craft store are sadly, evaporating like poor Frosty in a greenhouse.
• My Christmas outfit is in serious jeopardy. I will not be able to sneak out to the mall tonight to exchange the red sweater I bought at The Limited (the one that I bought in less than 6 minutes because someone was having a meltdown in a stroller). I just want to look like that mom in the Kay Jewelers commercial. You know, the gal wearing the festive dark green cowl neck sweater who’s beaming ear to ear as her husband hands her a big ol’ diamond necklace…or earrings, I forget. I was focused on the sweater.
• I must take stock to see if there are any essential grocery items in the house that we are in danger of running out of during “the storm” — milk, Dora the Explorer strawberry-banana drinkable yogurt, coffee, or my coveted chocolate-covered coffee beans. The whole town, including the grocery store, may shut down if we get 10 inches of snow because it’s not like there is an ample supply of salt trucks and plows in New England, and it’s not like we get approximately 27 snowstorms between December and April every year.

5:23pm

• Sigh. Line-up is finished. Cards are mailed. The snow is coming down in blankets. We’re bored. My terrible-two’s-pretzel-manic-girl has just spent the last 10 minutes sitting quietly in my lap, pretending to “paint” my face with her little fingers (she’s in a crafty phase right now). Her sweet little face is right up to mine, a look of sheer concentration in her blue eyes. She’s been quietly and gently tracing my eyes, my cheeks…her little nose almost touching mine. Then she leans back to admire her work…“There Mommy, you look beautiful!”
• Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.