Cabin fever and the daily stresses of five children can skew a persons perspective. Don’t believe me? Read this post. With the very best of intentions I had set myself to writing a pithy little anecdote to illustrate my point about how the effects of cabin fever will cause you to do things that you would otherwise have never dreamed of. You dear reader, God Bless you, were the recipient of some far fetched and totally out in left field story from my childhood about an extraordinary photo of a UFO in my local afternoon newspaper. The fever is powerful. It leads me and I, willing or not, must follow. I’m sorry. I’ll try to do better. But the walls are literally closing in around me, the ceiling compressing and the floor rising. With that preface, I’m going to try again.
I grew up in Louisiana. North Louisiana. Actually, it was Central Louisiana or Cenla as the natives refer to it but as a kid who seldom traveled anywhere, it felt like the north. And I was north of New Orleans and Baton Rouge. Not so far north that I could be considered a Yankee but not so far south that I could be considered a coon ass. I shouldn’t use that term. That is the typically derogatory term used to refer to the Cajun people of south Louisiana and I’ve got to admit, the Cajun people are truly the salt of the Earth. I suppose my point here is that I grew up in the middle of the state and it felt like the north to me. I’ve already lost my way again.
What I’m trying to say is that I felt that I was growing up in the North and the chill of wintertime affected me. Yeah, it used to get really cold in the winter time. This one time, I recall it got so cold that our grass turned brown for two whole months. Some of the leaves even fell from our trees. I had to rake them. Almost filled an entire bag. That was one long winter. One morning, it was so cold that I actually had to put on shoes to go outside and get the morning paper for my mom. My point here being that when the temperature dropped below 40 degrees unless it was absolutely necessary, I would not venture out of doors. The whole city essentially shut down. There were no emergency snow evacuation routes. There were no salt trucks and snow plows. We are southerners for Christ’s sake, we don’t do cold. It’s part of our charm.
So here’s where the fever takes hold of my logic. This past Sunday was a beautiful day. Beautiful is relative, I suppose. It was beautiful for a winter day in Middle America, America’s Heartland. The skies were fairly clear and more than once during the day the sun actually broke through the clouds. A nice layer of snow still covered the ground. We had our traditional Sleep Late Sunday breakfast fare of homemade pancakes and sausage. The kids were in rare form and a collective good mood. The game of chase each other as you run screaming like banshees throughout the house was rapidly getting under way and the decibel level of kid excitement was reaching its peak.
Then it happened. I caught a glimmer of sunshine as I was clearing away the dishes and stopped immediately. “OK, kids. Everyone outside.”
“What? We can go outside?”
“Yes you can. And…..you get to stay outside. The sun is out. Skies are clear. Go outside and have fun!”
“Hooray!! Dad, you’re the best.”
It wasn’t until long after they had disappeared screaming with joy into the yard that I felt the urge to check the temperature outside.
23.
Yes, I sent my kids outside to play with explicit instructions not to come back into the house until I called them for lunch and the outside temperature was twenty three degrees. But the sun was shining. No, I did not immediately call them back inside, they needed this and so did I.
At one point I checked on them to see Zoë and Zia hugging as they stood over Zane while he was playing with something at their feet. “How sweet. Where is my camera when these great little moments occur?” They were having a blast and the cabin fever was being cured right before my very eyes. To their credit, they stayed outside. I think they could feel the cleansing power of sunshine and fresh air. The balance of the universe was slowly being restored.
I called them back in for lunch and hot chocolate. Ten little blue hands, fifty little blue fingers, five little blue faces and about three quarts of frozen snot crusted on ten little blue nostrils. “Ddddaadd. Iiittt’sss ccccoolllddd out ttthhherrrre,” shivered Zia.
“But you looked like you were having fun. I even saw you and Zoë hugging at one point. And what was Zane playing with?”
“Dad. We weren’t hugging. We were trying to get warm,” Zoë chimed in.
“And Zane?”
“I was trying to build a fire.”
“All right Jack, drink your hot chocolate.”
Cabin fever…….But the sun was shining. You think children’s services is going to accept that?
It’s inconceivable!
