Boxing Day Blues (or How I Tried to Be Lazy)

I just finished an all-day project that has been years in the making and was completely not planned for today. Or any day, for that matter, which is why it’s been years in the making. Today, after all, is Boxing Day, and while that literally means nothing to those of us born in the US, since it is printed on my wall calendar, I have long decided that Boxing Day must be important and must be celebrated. By laying around and barely doing anything.

But despite global warming, snow descended on Baltimore today for about an hour, which put Child #2 in ecstasy. “Can we pleeeeeeeeeeeease play in the snow? Please please please?” “Maybe,” I say, “later, when the chocolate chip pancake crash is over. Besides, it’s Boxing Day, and you know we’re not supposed to do anything strenuous on Boxing Day.” #2 displays complete and total exasperation, complete with a deep sigh, a “we’re never going outside, are we” grimace, and a helpless flop of his arms. An hour later, he tries again, plaintively, “Mom. It’s beginning to rain. Can I PUH-LEASE go play in the snow before it’s gone?” Before I can say yes or no, he is digging in the front closet looking for snow boots, finds his snow pants from goddess-knows-what-year-since-it-last-snowed, finds a hat and snow gloves and heads out the back. Proud of his dogged determination, and his ability to find snow-related outerwear in the house, I decide to go through that front closet. At first, I am hoping to find snow boots for Child #1 so he, too, can go outside. His derisive and smoldering 14-year-old look indicates he is in no way desirous to spend one minute out in the cold. Fine. I’ll just see if I even have any boots for him should I indenture him to shoveling later in the week.

And so it began, pulling out boxes of winter stuff that fit no one in my house, gathering said merchandise into piles: 1) nice enough to give to the refugee resettlement agency; 2) scary and weird stuff that I’m glad #1 grew out of and will never want to see again on #2 or on any refugee (hence the trash pile); or 3) stuff that is so overlaid with dust that I don’t feel like washing it first (hence the trash pile).

But then I got all Girl Scout-y and couldn’t just leave the closet at that. I vacuumed dust and found things. The George Forman Grill I never even took out of the box (and still haven’t, but it’s on a shelf now where I can see it should I want to take it out of the box and, shock, use it). The electric tea kettle I bought for my old office and then took back when I left the office, in a huffy kind of “hah, now you people can’t make any tea because I’m taking this back” kind of way, and then promptly lost the kettle to the back of the closet. The hat to a kid’s coat that got zipped off. The mini chopper I used to use to chop whole nuts before I just bought them pre-chopped.

And wondrous of wonders, that age-old college staple, the good friend in days of yore…the provider of snack at will…the popcorn air popper. It was a gradual unveiling: first I found the butter melting cup, 10 minutes later the yellow plastic top, and then at least an hour later, the base. I thought about it for over an hour. Are the 1980s really over? Even though my cholesterol has been perfect all my life, should I bring the air popper back regardless? Is microwave popcorn really the same? Is there some kind of authenticity the air popper would bring back to my life, give it meaning, metaphorically give me respite from global capitalism? Would bringing the air popper back be a healthy move for my kids? Would it be fun, even, and provide kid-bonding over the errant popped kernels as they fly out of the popper? Would we engage in peals of laughter? Would we time the butter melting phase well enough? Would that become some kind of science experiment where I’m the fun one and they learn something and like me? And then something brought me out of my wondrous mommy reverie: #2 came back in from that snow and said “what the HECK is that? Looks like it’s from a science fiction movie.” #1’s withering look confirmed he agreed with his brother, coupled with a suspicious glare that I might make him use it, whatever it was. “It’s a popcorn popper,” I say, “when you plug it in, the air circulates down here, gets hot, and pops the corn.” #2: “You mean, just like a microwave? Why would you need something else just to pop popcorn? That doesn’t make any sense.”

Yep, he was right. Why keep something that does only one thing? Isn’t microwave technology also science-y? And I don’t have to supervise microwave technology, which increases the amount of time I can both ignore my kids and lay down on the couch. Besides, it’s Boxing Day and I should be laying down and all this thinking is too much for a holiday. Hence the trash pile.