Happily, mother nature decided to wrap herself up in a big, beautiful, billowy, blanket of blowing whiteness. I love snow. I live for snow days. I love that we own our own business, so CPod could take a snow day with us. I love having an excuse to throw the agenda out the window and just play for a day. I love my conductor for canceling our rehearsal this evening. (Not that I would have gone, but at least now I don't feel guilty . . . and since we're making it up with a shorter one, I'll still get paid.) I love hot chocolate. I love having another adult around to witness the insanity that is our house every single waking moment of every single day. I also love having another adult around to help clean up the mess that happens when all we do is play.
The snow started for us while we were still at church. Our crazy, must-have-lived-up-north-at-some-point bishop did not send all of us alarmist, weather-novice southerners home right away (even those of use who have lived out west still get excited when the snow begins to fall). (Maybe he should have . . . we have mountains here! One retired couple in our ward took 5 hours to get home, including a foray into a snowy ditch at the bottom of their non-flat neighborhood.)
We lost power twice on Sunday. This precipitated many happy circumstances, the least of which was not bedtime as soon as it got dark -- which equals early at our house. In fact, the power came back on about 5 minutes after we tucked all three boys into their sleeping bags (like camping, right?) but CPod and I still sat on the couch reading with flashlights so they would go to sleep without knowing, yes, they actually could watch a show before bedtime if they so desired.
So, before I explain the other best parts, guess what this is:
Guesses, anyone? Here's the same picture with two minor lighting changes:
All three boys got headlamps for Christmas, so we all donned them and wandered around our house in the half-light of a closing, cloudy day. CPod got out his JetBoil and cooked us up some Mountain House grub. I have never seen my kids eat like they did when we fed them camping food. They very nearly licked their plates. Even I, food snob extraordinaire, enjoyed it enough to actually consider eating it under circumstances other than, A. actual camping, B. power outage with no access to the grill since it's covered by a snow drift, or C. the apocalypse. A good time was definitely had by all.
Which brings me to the title and purpose of this post. I've decided to market my children as a boy band. There's another trio out there of cute-ish brothers, and I am 100% certain my boys have more talent than that Disney-ified, can't do it without a back-up band even though they pretend to play their own instruments, family of hotties. So, without further ado, I present for your viewing and listening pleasure, InkMama's Boys in their worldwide internet debut. Please don't call them Milli Vanilli. At least not until they're old enough to read. Then, I'll begin insisting they do their own stuff. For now, it's The Killers.
Please forward all press kit requests or gig inquiries to my e-mail. It's on my sidebar. I know they'd be perfect for whatever event you have in mind. I mean, where else have you seen moves like these?