Just a Tropical Storm, Perfect for Unloading Some Egg Cartons

I’ve got an affection for tropical storms. They always turn out to be a joke, so there is no stress, just hope. It was just another rainy day, but I held out for some dramatic wind—a bit of that wild rustling in the forest. Maybe an eerie howl that whips around the house. No such luck today. But, we did get those crazy bursts of rain that seem to come exclusively with tropical storms/hurricanes. That wild out-of-nowhere pound on the roof and the view out the window obscured in a grey wall. I like those.

I don’t much care for rainy days, unless they have the promise of at least an out-of-nowhere squall. So I was satisfied to stay in the house today, and do what people do with two children trapped inside a house all day. Which is…

Pull my hair out.

Alright, that might be dramatic. It wasn’t that bad. The tot only walked around the house screaming about things for approximately twenty percent of the day. The tot is in the time of the totally tiresome tantrums. Tender two-year-old feelings are easily bruised, and then turn indignant. Little hands get into lots of things, and then get in trouble, and then the tender feelings…

Pretty things spilled on the floor by a tot full of tender tantrums.

Meanwhile, the boy declared himself a circus performer and began performing tricks all across the house. First, I had the image of the boy tight-rope walker as he hurled himself from the couch to the love seat; second, an acrobat flipping from love seat onto dog bed, startling dog into the hysterics of jumping through imaginary hoops; third, running through the house like being shot out of a canon; fourth, a clown waddling through a pile of pillow debris, making strange faces that only a five-year-old or a clown would think of; then repeat sequence. As a result of a strong dislike of the emergency room, and disliking driving in periodic squalls, it was necessary to shut down the circus.

Other activities were in order. Being a deeply frugal person, we do not buy craft supplies, we wait for them to find us. We aren’t normal people. I might have a very pretty buffet in my dining room, but one entire drawer is shoved full of egg cartons. You just never know when you are going to need one (said the chicken-keeping pack-rat side of my personality). Needing one is definitely not an issue at this point. Needing fifty would be handy, to free up a little space. So here we have the brilliant resolution: Give the egg cartons to the boy.

First, we have the barge.

Next, the dump truck.

Lastly, and my personal favorite, the octopus.

And what did I do? I started going through my stash of cloth diapers, preparing to get rid of them, and reminiscing on squirmy little precious things, and almost tearing up, and then remembering that it is actually a really good thing that children grow older, and consoling myself, and then deciding that I really needed a snack. That's just who I am, from sadness one minute, to hunger the next. The wind changes direction here frequently.

Outside is very quiet now, as is the house while the children sleep. I can hear the noise from the interstate a good ways off blowing into my area. Then the rumble of a train. No swaying trees, no wolf wind howls. No excitement. This time of year no excitement is a good thing. Just a rainy day, perfect for unloading some egg cartons.