Running with Scissors

Sara Peterson-Davis has worked as a newspaper researcher and reporter, as well as a communications director and consultant. She and her husband, Monty Davis, can be found in Liberty, Mo., keeping their two children from running with scissors. Contact Sara

Survivor!

by Sara Peterson-Davis

Editor’s note: These Journal entries were found stuffed between some couch cushions in the Davis home earlier this week. Neither Sara Peterson-Davis nor any member of her family has been seen since the sand truck came down their street Monday afternoon. It is widely believed that after so many days stuck in the house together, they may have gone slightly over the edge. They were last seen heading in the general direction of the Kansas City International Airport. We will keep you informed of any breaks in this on-going story.

Friday, Jan. 12, 2007

3 p.m. — The kids and I are settled in after being sent home from school and work because of the impending ice storm. Spirits are high as we celebrate an early start to our weekend.

But I can’t shake this feeling of impending doom. I still remember the great ice storm of 1979, when freezing rain forced my family to stay under the same roof continuously for nearly 80 hours. Oh, the humanity! How much Monopoly and Scrabble did they think one person could endure?

5:30 p m. — While the kids are checking the list of closings hoping that school has already been canceled for next Tuesday, we have had our first minor squabble. Control of the remote control has become an issue. This is not a good sign.

7:30 p.m. — Monty has arrived home. He announced that unless the weather takes an unexpected turn for the better, he thinks it best that we stay in until Monday. Later, when someone asks where that whimpering sound is coming from, I lie and say I accidentally hit my pinky toe.

11:30 p.m. — Everyone is off to bed. Maybe being iced in won’t be so bad.

Saturday, Jan. 13, 2007

11:30 am. — Since the weatherman says the worst part of the storm should hit just after noon today, I have convinced everyone we should make a quick run to the store for milk, bread and Tylenol.

12:30 p.m. — We are happy to escape the grocery store with only a few scrapes and bruises. Who would have thought someone would want to throw down over that last bag of cheesy puffs?

3:30 p.m. — The kids have settled into WWF Smack Down on the PlayStation. I’m not sure that this is good, but they have stopped whining, “I’m soooo borreedd!” I guess I won’t worry until they start doing the “Stone Cold Stunner” on each other.

4:30 p.m. — The cat has wanted out at least 37 times in the past 45 minutes.

5 p.m. — The remote control is missing. I am trying to find it on my own before the others find out.

5:30 p.m. — News of the missing remote control is out. Panic has ensued.

5:32 p.m. — Crisis averted. The remote control has been found on the coffee table. Who would have looked there?

8:30 p.m. — Three hours into our Harry Potter film festival and I am left with more questions than answers. Why does Harry have to live with the Dursleys? If witches and wizards can subvert the bonds of time and space, why do they have to take a train to Hogwarts? Why not magic carpet or dragon taxi?

9:30 p.m. — I have just awoke from a catnap to, find the previously empty sink full of dishes. How is that possible?

10 p.m. — Control of the remote control is cutting down gender lines. The men seem to think that only they can change the channels on the television. They try to assert their alleged superiority by changing the channel every 10 to 12 seconds.

10:30 p.m. — In a quick move of wit and cunning, we women have gained possession of the remote control. We have now watched the same program for more than five minutes.

11:30 p.m. — I wake up again this time to find the hamper full of clothes. Are we harboring a fugitive I don’t know about? Can’t he wash his own clothes and dishes?

11:31 p.m. — I realize the remote control was stolen while I slept.

Sunday, Jan.14, 2007

9:30 a.m. — Someone mistook our kitchen for an IHOP. WE HAVE TOAST FOR BREAKFAST!

10:30 a.m. — The kids have decided to go outside and sled.

11:00 a.m. —The kids are fully dressed to go outside in the subfreezing temperatures.

11:02 a.m. — The kids are back inside announcing “It’s cold outside!”

11:03 a.m. — We push the kids back out the door.

12:30 p.m. — This time, someone mistook our kitchen for an Olive Garden. WE ARE HAVING SANDWICHES FOR LUNCH!

2 p.m. — Is that an electric drill puncturing my brain or is that the soundtrack to WWF Smack Down playing over and over?

2:39 p.m. — The hamper is full again. How is that possible? We’ve been wearing our pajamas for two days now.

3:32 p.m. — I awake from a dream in which my sink was invaded by sea urchins. I go into the kitchen to find the sink full of dishes again.

4:42 p.m. — I have now read every magazine in the house and am headed for the cereal boxes.

5:27 p.m. — What is thiamin mononitrate?

6:30 p.m. — I forgot to buy cheese slices at the store. The family isn’t convinced that cottage cheese was a suitable substitute in grilled cheese.

8 p.m. — The cat has now gone to the door 157 times without setting foot outside.

8:39 p.m. — The kids actually fought over who owned a piece of lint.

10:11 p.m. — If I have to watch Forrest Gump one more time, I’m gonna “Run, Forrest! Run!”

12:30 p.m. — Everyone is in bed. I have decided to stay up tonight and keep watch on the sink and hamper. No one’s getting past me.

Monday, Jan. 15, 2007

8:30 a.m. — I am completely demoralized. I awoke to a full sink and hamper.

9:30 a m. — The remote control is dead. We have no AAA batteries. Things are getting desperate.

10:23 a.m. — I can’t take the whining! Help must come soon.

12:31 p.m. — Someone claims they heard the sand truck coming down our street.

12:33 p.m. — The sand truck just passed in front of our house. The driver seemed stunned when I tearfully flagged him down to give him a hug.

12:38 p.m. — The car is warmed up and packed. We are outa’ here!

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