GAIL WHITE Kids hit with a case of cabin fever? Just keep 'em on the run

They were shoveling the driveway like a couple of wounded ducks.
"Look at them," I hissed to my husband, pointing out the window at our 15- and 11-year-olds.
"I don't care if it takes them all afternoon," he hissed back. "They're going to keep shoveling until every speck of snow is gone."
Cabin fever had struck our household.
When the two-day weekend turned into a three-day weekend last Friday with school being canceled, that was fun.
I actually had the boys up and ready for school. When the bus didn't arrive, I went to get my coat, thinking we had missed it. The most hopeful child turned on the television and, to his surprise and mine, found school closings running across the bottom of the screen. It was the delight of all of us to find our school on the list.
Starting out
We made a big breakfast, watched some television and enjoyed a relaxing day together.
After spending most of the weekend indoors because of subzero temperatures, we were holding steady.
Pat made a big pot of vegetable soup to keep us warm, and he and the boys made repeated trips to the wood pile to keep the fire stoked. It was a comfortable, cozy time.
When the three-day weekend turned into a four-day incarceration for two adults, four children and two dogs, the temperature was starting to soar indoors.
A good deal of snow had fallen the night before. It was not an unreasonable request to have the driveway shoveled Monday morning.
While the 12-year-old attacked the sidewalk and steps with vigor, the 15- and 11-year-olds were accomplishing their task with as much enthusiasm as a convict going to the electric chair.
They began the task with a definite air of indecisive hem-hawing. They wandered around aimlessly, muttering to themselves. After they could have completed the task five times, they found Pat, who was unsuccessfully trying to hide from them, and asked where the shovels were.
Clearly, they were trying to not complete the chore before the snow melted underneath their feet. To control our temperature, Pat and I decided not to watch the pathetic effort. Their method of accomplishing this task was far too painful to witness.
After an eon, the two came inside, red-faced and exhausted -- at least for the moment.
And then ...
The weekend plus two days of confinement were about to take their toll.
The beanbag chairs became tackling dummies. The couch pillows were cannonballs. And the floor was a veritable wrestling ring.
The boys were rabid with cabin fever.
Deciding that some structured time was needed, I thought playing cards would be a good idea.
It was not.
The winner of each game was attacked by the other three. At one point, the 5-year-old took his clothes off and ran around the room naked, prompting me to make a "players must keep their clothes on" rule.
Robert decided to teach us a new game. He began to explain the rules as he dealt the cards. "You get three cards," he said. Then looking at his cards, he said. "Wow, look at that! I won!"
We all sat staring at him. "Oh, now I understand how to play," I said with a sarcastic chuckle. With that, the attack was on once again as his brothers jumped on top of him.
By this time, my head was splitting with a headache. I needed peace and quiet for awhile. With no more snow to shovel, the four rabid youngsters were ordered outside. "Run around the house 20 times!" I told them.
I used to hate it when my parents told me to that when I was a child.
Now I know why they did.
As Day No. 5 of our incarceration arrived with the school closings once again running across the bottom of the television screen, I wondered if running around the house 100 times was too much?
How about running until spring?
gwhite@vindy.com