I am in the midst of chaos. Taco shells warming in the oven caused a fire, which filled the kitchen with smoke and set off the smoke alarm. Holding a half-dressed baby, I throw open the front door (which is normally closed for the winter) and giant clouds of snow blow in while two children run out. And the dog. He goes out too. I try to open a window in the back of the house — but I cannot push it up with enough force because I am trying to plug my baby’s ears to lessen the deafening beeps. I shift my position and manage to get the window open, causing even more snow to whirl inside. The alarm finally stops and my head is clear enough now to realize that my children are still out. Standing at the wide open door, I yell, “COME BACK IN! YOU DON’T HAVE YOUR BOOTS ON!”
“But Mama,” they yell back, “the snow feels like a giant pillow!”
At least they are wearing wool socks.