Can You Really Trust A Weatherman?

I am hunkered down in my basement lair, apathetically awaiting Icepocalypse '11. So far, the predicted freezing rain that was due to strike at 6:00 this morning has not materialized. Several school districts around us canceled classes this morning, but not Newmentia.

The boys and I had no trouble getting to school, with the temp hovering at 30 degrees. Upon arrival, the faculty was told that feeding time would be moved up from 10:53 to 10:00, just in case there was a need for early dismissal. People. Schools don't do anything just in case. That was an early out proclamation, signed, sealed, and delivered.

At 9:10, the gray skies parted and a deluge rained down upon Newmentia. An actual deluge, liquid in state, which promptly melted the salt pellets that had been sown some ten minutes earlier. The precipitation ceased within minutes. The only harm done was the stirring of GetOutEarlyFever in those excitable adolescents.

Lunch came and went. The altered schedule upset my standing time slot for riding the wild porcelain bronc. I snuck out for a clandestine rendezvous with the fractious white steed, and happened upon a bus driver talking on his cell phone. Always one to keep an ear open for pertinent information, I overheard that a head honcho was trying to reach a lesser honcho to finalize plans for a 12:00 dismissal. Yee haw!

I kept this special secret from my class. That's because I value life an limb. Especially mine. But at 11:15, the #1 son waltzed in (not so much waltzed, in a Viennese threestep manner, but more like tromped insouciantly through my classroom) bellowing, "Drivers can leave now! I could leave, but you made me ride to school with you!"

To get rid of him, I told him to take T-Hoe to Basementia and bring back The Pony. That would save us 15 minutes of waiting for his bus to arrive. #1 changed his demeanor like Sybil in a fast-forward video. He grabbed the keys and left. I hastily called Basementia to make it official, and not some weird kind of sibling abduction.

They returned in 25 minutes. #1 dropped of The Pony in my room like a bedbug-infested mattress at the town dump. Except the rats were sitting semi-quietly in desks instead of roaming willy-nilly in search of toes to gnaw off. #1 announced that he was going to class.

But we had not seen the last of #1. He came back ten minutes later, asking to borrow a game. I have no games. This is an institution of learning, not a Milton Bradley factory. #1 rummaged through my cabinets, shouted, "Aha! You were lying! I found dominoes!" and stormed out the door. In my defense, we use those dominoes to build rows for toppling, and thus determine rates of speed depending on the gaps between dominoes.

Five minutes later, #1 was back to put away the dominoes. I swear, sometimes that boy is like a ferret on crack.

After the long-awaited early dismissal, we topped of T-Hoe's gas tank, and stopped by The Devil's Playground for some necessities such as toilet paper, mini-flashlights, Zyrtec, and sugar-free chocolate pudding. I didn't glance at the milk cooler, but I will vouch for the fact that the bread and egg shelves were empty.

Ice formed on the back of T-Hoe's mirrors, but the windshield and roads remained unfrozen. We saw an owl, a hawk, and a white-tailed hawk all within one square mile. Who knew that avians find good hunting right before an epic ice storm? The county road to Hillmomba was also clear, but trees had a coating of ice that was unseen in Newmentialand.

Farmer H just called to report that his plant is shutting down for the night shift and all day tomorrow. We're going to be one great big freakin' happy family. If Newmentia cancels for tomorrow.

Bring on the Icepocalypse.