Across the state, schools had closed on Friday. Store shelves were being cleared as people prepared for a day of camping in on Saturday. I stocked the pantry with chips and dip, the fridge with a massive casserole and whipped cream for hot cocoa. Thing1 and Thing2 made sure their sleds were ready, and the wood bin was overflowing.
But, Saturday morning, the snow had not materialized. We were expecting a blizzard and barely got a dusting in our little corner of Vermont (4-6 in Vermont is a dusting). As we gazed out at the trees already stripped of snow by the howling wind, our entire family felt ripped off by the weather industry.
Everything had been canceled for Saturday already – basketball, breakfast out – and with a still-falling mercury, the Big Guy and I quickly decided to proceed with the camp-in as planned. We fired up the DVD player and began our day-long homage to sloth.
I set out cereal and cinnamon buns at breakfast, and cheese and crackers and other snacks at lunch. As soon as one of us got the notion to do something productive the rest of the family would intervene, re-issuing the proclamation that today was about doing nothing. Computers were shuttered, homework was put away, and the phone was ignored. The conversation never became more serious than debating whether there are more Monty Python or Tolkien references in Futurama. Our bodies and our brains were only aware of the red hot stove and the person snuggling on the sofa next to us.
It was pointless. It was unproductive, and it was glorious.