Cabin Fever Remedies. Yes to Donuts. Hold the Hot Chocolate.

Day 5 in the house while a rare snow storm waxes and wanes outside...

We've now sledded to the point where we simply don't want to sled anymore. When you really think about it, that's kinda sad. But, there it is. We have had an overabundance of winter fun and now we'd just like for the snow to go away. School has been closed for over a week and as Christmas approaches, there's no end (or relief) in sight for Daddy to perform his duties as the "other child" in the house.

"Why don't you go out and help the kids build a snow man?," my wife suggests. Actually, it's more insistent than suggested. I've been enjoying working in my pajamas and have not taken a shower in three days. It feels absolutely fabulous. This is really livin' brother. But, all good moments must come to an end. Besides, I think I am starting to smell myself. Nah. That doesn't happen until at least the fifth day. Too late. My wife hands me my coat.

So, I cobble together a winter outfit and head outside. It's cold. It's snowing. It's quiet. It's a Robert Frost moment soon broken. The kids come tumbling out of the house. They sure look darn cute in their snow gear. Within minutes the laments ring out from the small to the tall.

"The snow is in my eyes."

"My gloves don't fit."

"I need to go to the bathroom."

"I have snow in my boots."

"Let's go to Starbucks, Daddy."

My replies in succession:

Then close them.

So, put your hands in your pockets.

You'll have to hold it or go in your pants.

Well, take them off and shake it out. Geez.

Aw hell yeah.

The back door opens. "I heard you say you are going to Starbucks?" my wife chides. "No donuts. No chocolate milk or hot chocolate. The kids don't need all of that sugar." Wait for it. Here it comes. "And neither do you." Right on time.

Well, what's the fun of going to Starbucks if you can't have a donut? I keep that thought to myself and return the question with the familiar refrain of every happily married male on the planet "Yes, dear."

I order the donuts anyway. But, I stop short on the hot chocolate. Too messy to clean up when they spill it all over themselves. Also, hot chocolate sticks to things like scarves, jackets and mouths. Too much evidence. Donut traces are easily concealed. I don't think my wife has one of those blue light thingys you see on CSI, so the donut buying crime will be effectively neutralized.

So I sit with my three progeny in a corner seat at the local Starbucks. The cute nurses from the neighborhood hospital come and go and provide a nice parade of bundled diversions. I have to check them from the corner of my eyes.

Sidebar: Any man who says he does not enjoy watching the girls go by is lying. It's somehow encoded into the DNA. There's no sense me denying it. Besides, let's face it, how obnoxious can I really be with three donut-chomping children sitting 'round me. I have kept man written all over my body. Which is fine with me. I like my wife. She's funny. And beautiful. And talented. I dearly love her. She's reading this. I'm not stupid, much.

And so as we tromp back to our wintry home here in the city, three wee ones in tow and a hot cup of coffee in my gloved hand, I am grateful for the moment. It's quiet. It's snowing. And, the sugar buzz is now firmly calming my children. Robert Frost could not have painted a better picture.