Front Row Seat

Today a car ran into the gas pump across the street. Apparently the driver had a prosthetic leg that got stuck on the accelerator. The car was up on its side when the fire trucks and police arrived. I don't think anyone was hurt too badly, as they all got out of the car, but the tow truck drivers couldn't figure out how to get the car out of there. Nothing blew up, luckily. I was babysitting and all the kids stopped what they were doing to look at the fire trucks, but other than that, they were not impressed. City kids.

Snow-rain-pocolypse

Laurel wore her nightgown inside out last night. As she is prone to distraction during all activities involving hygiene and housework, I assumed she just grabbed something out of her drawer and threw it on without looking. But in fact, her teacher had instructed the class to "wear your pjs inside out and flush an ice cube down the toilet." I used to work with a woman who always told the kids things like that, and I suddenly missed her and that job when I thought about the fun we had. I was skeptical of the winter weather warning - the storm looked like it was going north to me- but school was already canceled for the day when we woke up. It's a heavy wet snow, mixed with rain. Heart attack snow, some say, because it's so heavy to shovel.

The people in my neighborhood seem to have given up on clearing their sidewalks. Another degradation of civility? There is a $300 fine for not doing it, but I take it more as a matter of courtesy to those who need to walk by your house. One of the agreed upon social norms of urban living. But now there are great stretches of the neighborhood that seem to go uncleared for as long as the snow lasts. Pedestrians pack the snow down into little icy patches, dogs leave pee trails, litter gets lodged in it. You can tell exactly where the transitional living apartments are, with their institutional grade salt and completely clear sidewalks.

I was pretty bummed about school being canceled, because that meant the boys' preschool was also closed and I have really grown to count on those three mornings a week to stay sane. I just really need to be alone sometimes.

We did make it outside and I was very pleased with the performance of Max's new full-body rain suit. He wouldn't stop eating snow off the driveway though. "This is soooo yummy, Mommy."

I helped the kids work on Valentines for their classmates. I cut out hearts from construction paper and they signed their names and decorated them with stickers. And that's as fancy as we are going to get this year. We had a dance party. Marko finished building one of the LEGO sets from his birthday. Laurel read all the e-books I put on her kindle. Max dumped things out, climbed on furniture, tried to reach the knives, ate playdoh, and then told me he wanted to "sleep in the buggy. With milk." So he's asleep in the stroller now, and I sent the other kids off to watch tv.

Sounds and sights, of the miscellaneous variety

There are Legos everywhere. Bursts of squealing, screeching, shouting, crying, then it settles into quiet voices as they get back to playing together. They tell stories to each other. "Pretend you are the dad and you went to mow the grass and there was a horse in the way..."

"Pretend you are a cheetah and your brother is coming over with some juice...."

Back and forth, they exchange scenarios while they build what they call "set ups" - little arrangements of figurines and cotton balls and tape.
**
Footsteps and muffled voices outside the door. I'm naked, in a hospital gown, waiting for my supposed-to-be annual skin cancer screening. The PA comes in, greets me while looking right past me. "Any concerns?" She tsks at the scar on my shoulder. "Who did this?"

I don't say anything. She was the one who performed that procedure. The scar looks like shit. It healed wide. I'm not the type to mind, but I do catch people staring at it if I'm in a swim suit. She tells me she needs to check the pathology report and leaves the room. When she comes back, she checks the rest of my body and doesn't say anything else about the scar.

"Good for another year!" she practically shouts, as she disappears into the hallway. I get dressed quickly, inhaling deeply when I catch a whiff of the mud caked on my boots when I bend over to tie them. It smells like disinfectant in there, and the floor looks clean, but I'm reminded of my mom's stories about her aides throwing soiled linens right on the floor.
**
Ever since we started looking at camper vans and RVs, I've been noticing people living in their vehicles. On the street near the boys preschool, in the parking garage at the Target. Once I was walking around the corner from my house and the side door on a nondescript work van was open, revealing some shelving with clothes on it, a little bed and a stove. I think I could very happily live in a van, even with the three kids, but that it would be difficult to live the way we do now.
**
I haven't heard a siren, the entire time I've been typing this. I noticed this fact because I thought they were a near constant presence on my street and I thought I might write a little something about the differences between Pittsburgh EMS and Eastern Area and the number 17 fire engines. But either it's  a slow day for overdoses and accidents or I am overestimating the general amount of first response traffic on my street.