The forecast: an inch of ice, 6-12 inches of snow, and probable power outages for days. Forecasters compared it to the “big one” of ’07, where power was out for 11 days. We got a dusting of ice, 4-6 inches of snow and power continues to flow.

As an aside, I need to point out I’m getting old when I base life experiences on weather.

Anyway, the Sons of Thunder spent the night in front of the fireplace – promising to wake up every two hours to keep it burning when the power went out. Yeah, right – the waking up part I mean.  We woke up, we had no fire. We did, however, have power.

All this simply proves the corollary that when you are prepared for Event X, said event does not occur.

As proof, I offer the Christmas ’09 snow storm, where we had no gas in the generators and the warm clothes were packed away in a storage shed. And we didn’t move for five days and I’m dating everything by weather events again.

The Ice Storm of ’10 (see?) was a letdown for the SoTs. They were quite pumped to play Little House on the Prairie, although they have no idea what it’s about.  Their dismay over having power – go figure – was eased somewhat when I explained no power equals no computer, no PSP.

And then my brilliant engineering eldest Son pointed out we could plug said electronic devices into the generator and all would be good.  When I showed them how loud the generator was and the carbon monoxide pouring out, that idea was nixed. So they were sorta glad we still had power, especially they canceled school.

But the Little Black Dress was happy.  There was some muttering about why she left left Georgia “for this.” But I just chalk it up to the fact she’s yet to rediscover her pioneer roots from her forays in Alaska. We have time.

The Sons of Thunder are finally sent packing back to school a day later. A side note: why can they get up at 6 a.m. on holiday, but can’t get up until 7:30 a.m. on a school day, despite threats, water torture and shock treatments?

Anyway, I finally have a day of quiet.  Time to write, to think, to plan. Time to realize how quiet the house is without the Sons.  I love the Sons, but the constant barrage of noise can drive one a little batty. Especially when one can’t really escape outside because it’s below zero with the windchill.

Nevertheless, I am enjoying my Wednesday solitude.  This despite the fact we may face more crazy weather. And that fact has led me to drive the Little Black Dress down to the big town. She has a pageant to judge, and having a judge stuck out in the country when they’re supposed to be judging in the big town is not good.  I get the LBD down to the big town and get back in time to pick up the Sons.  They will be in school for the next two days, I will be alone. Life is good (despite not having the LBD around), but you get my point.

“ARTIC BLAST.  No School for two days!!!!!!” the youngest Son bellows upon getting in the car.  Said phrase is repeated twice more by the other two upon their entry into the transportation vehicle. Plus they have notes from the various principals.

This means four days, alone with the Sons, with an “artic blast” expected.

For the record, we are surviving.  No bones broken, no blood spilt – at least nothing really measurable.  Necessities – food, wood, toilet paper, all collected prior to the coming storm. The generators are gassed up.

We go to sleep, knowing the ice, snow and freezing temperatures will meet us with the morning sun.

Dawn arises, it is freezing. But there is no snow, no ice.  The “artic blast” brought colder weather, but nothing else.  The Sons easily could have gone to school.  But they are home, with me.  For four days, without the LBD.

Yeah, this is that quality time everyone talks about.  Just me and the Sons, eating pizza over the kitchen sink, farting without saying excuse me, not making the bed, missing the dirty clothes hamper.  Telling stories, hanging around the fire. Just really getting into the father-son bonding thing. Yep, all over that.

And I’m just writing up a storm.  And that would be a big lie. And I finally give up. And I look at the Sons and say “yes … please.”  And they go “YEAH” and the electronic games are on.

I don’t care what all those child shrinks say, there is only so much “quality time” you can spend with your kids before you need some of your own quality time – and I mean alone.

But at least it’s quiet again.

Let us pause for a moment to recover from said jumping before we venture out.

Okay, I can move now. Sorta.

And yes, we have more snow.  Fortunately, this time without the Artic winds of last week.  Snow, when it’s not driving into your face at 30 mph, is actually very pretty and has a somewhat calming effect.

This time the Sons are properly outfitted with survival gear, and it’s not long before they are out enjoying the whiteness.

And they head up to visit Grand Ann and Pops – their grandparents – and to make sure the tunnel they made from the previous storm has survived.

And Grand Ann suggests they make ice cream.  And the wheels start turning among the Sons.  I know this because they are soon racing into our house yelling and screaming and demanding various supplies.  And tracking up the house the Little Black Dress and I just cleaned up. 

I am enthused by their enthusiasm.  Yet I am also not exactly happy about the snow drifts previously outside that are now inside my house.  However, enthusiasm wins out.

Although I have not spoken directly to the source, it’s my understanding Grand Ann gave them the secret ingredients and methods passed down from generations of yore to make said snow ice cream.  As I recall from my youth, there was actually some type of big hunk of metal – some type of churning device – that was used.

We did not have said device.  However, the eldest Son is rather industrious and quickly went to the internet.  And sure enough, within a matter of minutes he’s called up a YouTube video with step-by-step directions on making snow ice cream.

Tell me the world isn’t changing.  I use splattered, covered and torn up cook books.  My kids use videos from the internet, something that didn’t even exist when I was growing up.

Anyway, there’s a lot of running back and forth between the kitchen and the computer.  There’s also starting to be “discussions” about who gets to put what where and how much and the “can’t we just all get along, this is supposed to be fun” phrase is starting to emulate from the LBD.

We take a short regrouping break, assign various tasks to each Son and fortunately, move on.

And after a while, the eldest Son sticks a spoon with some kind of glob in front of my mouth.

“Uh, you first,” I respond.  And he does, and smiles.  And I see he isn’t gagging and falling to the ground writhing in pain.  This of course means I now have to try said glob.  So I do.  And darn if it’s not good.  And I mean really, really good.

With the success of the first batch, the Sons immediately inform us we must quadruple the recipe.  And so they start throwing out all these one-fourths and two-thirds and other odd amounts at me to do the math for the quadrupling.

And my head is starting to hurt; whether from the snow cream or the math, I’m not sure.  I’m seriously missing the metric system.

Now we have a freezer-full of snow ice cream, but the Sons are happy and no one is poisoned.  So we’ll chalk that up to a good memory.