The Scene: Wednesday evening. The living room. It is half way through Winter Break. The children have been off school for three days; they are restless, they are bored, they are playing chicken with their mother’s last nerve. This impartial narrator’s money is on The Mother.
The floor is cluttered with piles of neatly folded clothes and open suitcases. Five sets of skis and poles make a precarious lean-to against one wall. The Mother has been packing all afternoon. The Father has been on an out of town meeting all day, but has planned to take an early flight home so he can start his vacation too. The children are waiting anxiously for him to walk through the door. When he does, they are finally going to Rosendal, to Farmor, to the slopes, at the very least to different walls than the ones they’ve been climbing for the past five unstructured, unproductive, uneventful days.
Act I: Scenes I and II
In which the phone rings, it is The Father. Fog has him socked in at the airport. The children's raucous energy quiets to a twitchy buzz as they listen to the one-sided conversation. It is decided to postpone the trip. The family will leave first thing tomorrow morning. Bitter disappointment and tears ensue.
The Mother resorts to much tutting and shushing to calm her frustrated children. Peace is eventually restored with the promise of some Pepsi Max and a bath after dinner.
Act II: Scene I
In which panic once again grips the hearts of the children when The Mother casually mentions she hadn’t planned on making dinner tonight. The pantry is searched. The freezer is raided. The refrigerator scoured. The exhaustive search turns up frozen chicken, pesto, a jar of sun-dried tomatoes, and half a red onion. The children are skeptical, but The Mother promises to work a culinary miracle.
Act III: Scene I
Finally seated around the dinner table, the children slump heavily in their seats and pick suspiciously at the sticky green chunks of pesto-soaked poultry on their plates.
Elder Miss: (pouting) I wish there was a God to blame.
Boy: (defiant) Me too.
Elder Miss: Maybe there is.
Boy: Nah. Let’s make one up!
Elder Miss: Okay. His name is Bob-nob.
Missy: (giggle) That rhymes.
Boy: Yeah, and he has a jet pack.
Missy: And a monkey!
Elder Miss: And he can control the weather.
Boy: Bob-nob sucks.