It’s Day 8756 of The Undying Winter that the great far-seer, GRRM, foretold. Hope has long since abandoned us. It’s plain now, as plain as the dirty re-frozen slush at the end of my driveway, that the kids will never return to school. With their educations stunted, they have taken to wearing only athletic shorts and racing through the house howling like wild dogs. The hamster has a permanent, wild-eyed look of terror now. We assume that with little else to entertain them, the pack will soon fall on the poor rodent for sport.
No adult has the will to stop them.
The Ice Queen has the world in her chill grasp, laying waste to all that is wholesome, warm, and friendly. Naught remains but bitterness, frostbite, and half-eaten Turkish delights.
Well, okay, so maybe it isnt’ that bad. I mean, the kids are still fully clothed and haven’t taken to animal behaviors. Yet. Also, we don’t own a hamster. Plus, the closest thing I’ve ever seen to a Turkish delight is a jelly doughnut, and we ate all of those.
But this cockle-chilling winter business is like being forced to wear that itchy sweater with the 6-inch wide zig-zag pattern and the hearts on the sleeves your Aunt Milly gave you for Christmas last year. It’s uncomfortable, gives you the appearance of a raving lunatic, makes your life more miserable by the second, and compels you to pine for the days when you could frolic about, mostly unclothed.
(I was trying to figure out how to fit in that it dries your skin out like beef jerky, but I’ve yet to see a hideous striped sweater that accomplishes that. And if there is such a thing, it’s probably best if I don’t know about it.)
So what do we really have to show for Old Man Winter’s comeback tour with the Polar Vortices? Teeth. We have teeth.
Over the past four days since it got all snowy and cold, the Tooth Fairy has been making regular stops at la casa de Puddin. And by regular, I mean each and every night, including having to settle the tab for more than one tooth on at least two occasions. And the Puddinette has informed me that Eldest Son (who earned a little dental payola less that twelve hours ago) has already today plunked out one of his chompers in readiness for another visit tonight from the family fairy. Our’s, as it turns out, happens to be a great deal more grouchy than glittery. She is also bearded, beer-loving, and given to long, rambly blogs.
You know, in case that sounds familiar?
Anyway, the long and short of all this is simple. Winter must end soon. Because apparently something about this cold, snowy, being-out-of-school stuff is knocking the teeth from my children’s respective heads like a it was some carnival game. If something doesn’t change soon, I fear they’re going to be gumming tomato soup and drinking blended-up Sour Patch Kid smoothies for the rest of their young lives. And no one wants that.
Silliness aside, that, my good puddintopians, is a perfect example of correlation without causation. Because, as we all know, winter doesn’t really knock a kid’s teeth out.
They are, after all, baby teeth. That’s kind of what happens naturally.
But, uh, if they’d maybe just not all happen at once, the Tooth
Puddin Fairy would appreciate it.