The Ice Storm (Uh, Not The "Key Party" Kind)

Good : coworker poking their head into your office and saying, "What the hell are you still doing here? We're closing early!" Dewey Billem Fivehundredbucksanhour & Howe NEVER CLOSES EARLY. Not for snow, not for hurricane-force winds, not even for the time police found a bag of "mysterious white powder" at a local hotel (I can recall what it WASN'T [anthrax / ricin / Botulicious Neurotoxin 'n Shake Mix], but have no idea what it WAS [cornstarch? Gold Bond? A drug with some deliciously alluring "location/descriptor" nickname, like "China White" or "Poughkeepsie Fuck-You-Upper"?).

Not So Good : torrential sleet whipping into your face like icy buckshot. Philadelphians' inclement-weather driving techniques (screaming, "BUT IT HAS TRACTION CONTROLLLLLLLL!" as they skid across six lanes of traffic). Stepping in a puddle and feeling your Docs fill up with something remarkably akin to a Slurpee, only a lot less sweet and a lot more likely to make you scream expletives in the middle of Market Street.

Worse : "Wow, this came out of NOWHERE! It was pretty warm this morning! I even put the baby in a spring-weight jacket before I dropped him at daycare!... oh, crap."

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Good : Baby's seasonally-inappropriate wardrobe means only one thing: agonizing guilt. Oh, screw that. It means BABY GAP TIME!

No So Good : Baby Gap employees not amused by intro line of, "So... who do I have to blow to get some heavily-discounted winter garments in here?"

Worse : struggling to hold a heavily-bundled toddler, a purse, a bag full of recently-procured Baby Gap goodness and a perpetually-inverting umbrella while being pummeled by aforementioned freezing rain.

Really Freaking Awful : one of those items can now talk.

J.Q. : "Cold, mama! Cold! Scary!"
Jul : "I know, J.Q., I know, mama is sorry, we'll be inside soon..."
J.Q. : "Soon!"
[After thirty more minutes of slogging through Hell on Ice]
J.Q. : "Inside... soon? Brrr!"
Jul : [affixes sign to toddler reading "FREE TO MORE COMPETENT PARENT", curls up on icy pavement and dies of guilt]

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Good : hallelujah and pass the Annie's Cheddar 'n Tiny Semolina Anarchy Symbols, the market is OPEN!

Not So Good : the market contains yogurt raisins.

Worse : due to overwhelming parental guilt, by the time we reach the check-out, J.Q. ALSO contains yogurt raisins. All of them.

Really Freaking Awful : [the following morning] "It's WHITE?! What the - ? Oh, yeah... damned yogurt raisins."

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Good : the kind, lovely and musically-discriminating Kateri provides us with Dylan-style shelter from the storm.

Not So Good : our shelter contains three children. By the time morning rolls around, one of these children will have crapped enough times to send Mr. Huggies' children to a very nice graduate school indeed. One of them will have experienced a "night terror"-style bad dream (complete with the type of bone-chilling screams capable of stopping the heart of every mother within a five-block radius). One of them will have decided that the ideal sleep position is "draped across nearest adult's face" and woken up in annoyance each time they were moved.

Worse : It's 10 AM. I'm exhausted. Kateri is exhausted. The previous night was harrowing enough to make even the bravest woman's Fallopian tubes spontaneously twist into tidy little knots. When J.Q. starts rooting around in my purse and chirping, "Makeup! Makeup!", neither of us feels motivated enough to stop him. Trust me, this will be important later.

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Good : a sleepy and eyeliner-smeared J.Q. actually consents to ride in his sling.

Not So Good : he winds up riding in it for about an hour and a half, which is how long it takes us to get home (public transit, hurrah!).

Worse : [while rummaging in purse] "Why do all of my lipsticks have bite marks in them? And WHERE ARE MY KEYS?!"

But Not So Bad After All : we drive to New Jersey (my car keys being kept wisely separate from my house keys). J.Q. is spoiled rotten by his grandparents. I take a sojourn to the local Beauty Emporium Not Strictly Intended For Those of the Caucasian Persuasion and pick up a box of the reddest hair dye I've ever seen (I'm never going back to Lady Clairol... Creme of Nature rocked my lily-white ass). We all enjoy some vegan General Tso's. And Junket* is kind enough to replace my AWOL keys with fetching animal-printed ones. I'm trying to come up with a little saying to help me differentiate them... "Okay, so a CHEETAH would be capable of eating a DALMATIAN, so... oh, screw it").

* For this act of sisterly kindness, I am willing to forgive her for not agreeing that "LOCKSMITHS DO IT 'TIL YOUR PINS ALIGN AT THE SHEAR POINT" would be a good t-shirt.