Hello, America. It’s me. Emma. Writing to you from one of the polar ice caps. By which I mean, New England. Where it now snows. ALL. WINTER.
We’re all thinking it, America. So let’s just say it: WTF?
Don’t give me that horrified look. I think I’m justified in throwing out a, “What The Frozen-poopie?” at this point. We had FOUR blizzards. In FOUR weeks. At least that’s what Mommy keeps saying. Personally, I have no idea how many four is. Because I only know how to count to eleven. (One, two, three, six, eleven.) But I’m guessing four is a lot. And I’ll be honest, America, it’s getting a little tiresome. Do you have any idea how much snow I’ve had to watch my Daddy shovel off our driveway? Or my big brother Jacob pretend to shovel (while actually playing in the snow and pushing most of it back onto the driveway) . . .? I’M. EXHAUSTED.
Not to mention that my education has suffered. Between snow days and sick days, I’ve only been to preschool a few days each week. UNACCEPTABLE, America. How am I supposed to learn Spanish? Or how to use the potty?? If I don’t get back to school soon, I’LL NEVER LEARN THE SPANISH WORD FOR POOP. This could seriously compromise my plans for spring break. (CANCUN ALL THE WAY, BABY.) But back to my point . . .
I can tell that Mommy and Daddy are really broken up about the situation. Every time they announce that school is cancelled– AGAIN– Mommy says the words she usually only uses in the car. When someone cuts her off in traffic. Words I’m supposed to pretend I don’t hear. Or understand. Or remember. (Spoiler alert: I’m saving them in case I ever forget my lines in the school play and need something to fill the silence.) Anyhoo, I’m not sure whether Mommy is more concerned about me not learning Spanish or not learning how to go peeps on the potty. Either way, Mommy REALLY cares about my learning. And this snow. Is. KILLING. Her.
But don’t worry, America. I have found productive ways to use my time. Like exploring the medium of play-doh. By which I mean, telling Mommy what to make me out of play-doh. (It’s called delegating, people.) If I’m being totally honest, Mommy’s play-doh birdie was not that impressive. Same for her play-doh snowman. And telescope. But I try to focus on the process. (I don’t want Mommy to get discouraged.) Oh, also, I’m learning to do a forward roll. I find it’s best to practice on a nice soft surface. Like the edge of a bed. Side benefit: it helps Mommy to focus. ON. ME. (Who else?) As soon as she sees me get into position, she comes running. Thanks, Mommy. I’m glad you were paying attention. This time. Kiss, kiss.
And, I’ve found a new hobby. Demanding hair accessories. I know what you’re thinking: BRILLIANT. AND. VISIONARY. Here’s how it works. Let’s say Mommy and I are reading a story. And I see a picture of a girl wearing a hair bow.
Me: Mommy, I want DAT.
Me: DAT. Hair boat.
Mommy: Hair what?
Me: HAIR. BOAT. Purples hair boat.
Mommy: The purple hair bow?
This is usually when Mommy says something irrelevant like “Oh, Emma, you don’t have that much hair yet.” Or, “I don’t think a bow would stay in your hair now”. Really, Mommy? REALLY? Must I explain this to you again? Mommy, some people see my fuzzy little head as it is and ask “Why get a hair bow?” I prefer to see my fuzzy little head as it could be and ask, “WHY NOT GET EMMA DAT PURPLES HAIR BOAT?!?”
Mmm. I thought you’d come around, Mommy. Don’t look so concerned. You can borrow my hair boat whenever you want. (Seriously woman, tame that mop.)
So, as you can see, America, I have made the best of the situation. Your Emma has kept her chin up. (Except, of course, when pouting. For another piece of banana bread. Or more video time. Because, America, keeping your chin up when pouting is totally ineffective. And you might cramp.) I have soldiered on. Whatever that means.
That said, enough is enough. These weekly blizzards cannot go on. We need to get to the bottom of this. WHY. IS. IT. STILL SNOWING? Isn’t the earth supposed to be getting hotter? As you know, The Emma is not one to be taken in by idle gossip. But I’ll tell you what I’m hearing on the streets. There is a girl named Elsa. And she’s a snow goddess. I THINK IT’S HER FAULT. I haven’t figured out exactly who Elsa is. (She might be in the pre-K class.) But when I do: WE. WILL. HAVE. WORDS.
Note to self: must learn the Spanish word for poop by then.