We started school this morning at 10am. Which is two hours later than normal. Because, well, snow. Nevermind that the roads were dry and clear, this is Texas and there's something white on the ground, it looks strange and it makes people drive badly. Well, worse than usual. Therefore, we must delay school until we determine that the foreign substance on the ground isn't harmful to children.
This morning, over a leisurely breakfast, I overheard the middle child asking her all-knowing older brother if this meant that they'd stay until 5pm, rather than 3pm. He told her "no."
My evil mother-brain began to turn. Casually, as I was helping with shoes and jackets and finding mittens that don't match or fit but by golly they're good enough, I mentioned that I would pick them up today at five. It's such a good thing that he wasn't looking at me, because I would have burst out laughing.
It worked, because he was furious. "THEY CAN'T MAKE ME STAY LATE! IT'S NOT MY PROBLEM IT SNOWED." I considered letting him in on the joke, but I chose not to. I just told him it is what it is, and he'd just have to deal. And that I packed him an extra snack.
Here's the meanest part. I let him go to school believing it. That's the price he pays for hitting me with a snowball.