I want to make one thing perfectly clear. Those who know me quite well already know this which I am about to reveal. I do not like snow. There. I said it. I have never liked snow. I am a Southern born and raised woman who does not sit around praying for snow the moment Ken Cook dons his red vest and starts dancing around in front of the green screen and yelling about a winter wonderland. I do not like snow. I am not exactly sure when I began to feel this way, but I think it had something to do with being in college and sitting in a 3-hour economics class that started at 7:50 and the cancellation of school came at 8:00, stepping out and seeing a wasteland with no food and no transportation, and trying to walk the two miles back to my apartment in a pair of really inappropriate shoes only to end up in the Gilbert Health Center with a torn achilles heel and referral to some foot doctor I couldn't possibly reach because of snow on the ground. Or maybe it was later that weekend, when I realized I couldn't even get a tray from the dining hall because everyone else already stolen them for sleds while I was waiting for someone to examine my foot. Perhaps it was on Sunday of that weekend, when the dining hall closed and Joy and I had nothing to eat except Pop Tarts, and they weren't even frosted. Or perhaps it all goes back to my first year working a real job, when I was forced to stay and meet a deadline and ship something via Fed Ex even though I was fully aware that not only was Fed Ex not going to make it, but neither was I since I lived an hour away.
Regardless of how I got here, this is where I am. I have not liked snow for at least 20 years. Yet here I sit, surrounded by it, and surrounded by garbage that is piling up because the garbage company can't possibly get down this road. After a whopping three days back at school after Christmas break, the kids are now facing their fifth day of what will for all practical purposes amount to Spring Break. They are getting kind of crazy. So am I.
The first day, Monday, I decided we needed to rearrange our bedroom furniture. It looks good and the new arrangement really shows off the chair I stole from my children because they were abusing it. I wanted that chair anyway. Then I decided having Maisy downstairs was not working out, so we emptied the study altogether (they aren't using it anyway since we've entered a permanent ice age and they'll probably never return to school again) and moved her into the study, princesses and all.
Wednesday morning I decided I needed to walk to Publix. Yes, I am well aware that Publix is three miles from this house. I did not care. I love my family, but I wanted some Dr. Pepper, and I was willing to make a run for it. Caitlyn and I set out at about 12:30 with backpacks and good intentions. At 1:15, we were at the front of our neighborhood, cowering in a ditch because we had to take refuge from the slipping, sliding mail truck that was headed straight for us. That mail truck didn't even have my Amazon package.
Later that afternoon, we went outside to see about shoveling the driveway, which was by then completely frozen under two inches of ice. Four of the six of us went outside and worked on the driveway, during which time I heard, and said, many interesting things, which I will document for you here now...
"Don't use the snow shovel! Something like 50 percent of people that shovel snow have a heart attack and die."
"Why did the mail truck even bother nearly running us over when they didn't even bring my Amazon package?"
"I'm gonna bust us outta here." (that was Harry with his Tonka bulldozer)
"Why is the neighbor building an igloo?"
"Here comes Shirtless Man!"
(For those of you that don't know, Shirtless Man is our neighbor. We don't know his real name, nor do we know if he actually owns any shirts. I have never seen him wear one. He likes to rip up and down the road shirtless, sometimes on a bicycle, sometimes, like now, on his riding lawnmower. It's an expensive lawnmower, too...maybe he used all his shirt money buying that fancy lawnmower.)
"Harry! Stop it!"
"Why?"
"Because you'll fall and bust your head and never get to see Mr. Anthony again." So now we've resorted to threatening Harry with never seeing his Sunday school teacher again if he even thinks about climbing the stairs. Nice.
We love each other. We really do. We are a family that relishes time together and uses any excuse to grill out and have a party on the deck. We even celebrated the birthday of Charley's car 2 weeks ago. We know how to have a good time. We even took our telescope out on the deck last night and used the clear evening to observe Jupiter. But we've got to get out of here. Tomorrow isn't looking very good. I'll miss a meeting, Charley will miss a third day of work and his meeting. Yet another day will pass without me being able to make the video I promised to have ready for church on Sunday. Target's sale on fitness dvds is almost over, not that I'll need it after shoveling ice for two hours. P90X has has nothing on the snow shovel. Nothing.
My baby mantids are looking at me kind of funny, like they know their fruit fly supply is dwindling. I am almost positive one of them was sizing me up for his next meal.
I don't like snow. I never have. I never will. I love all kinds of things that no one else does, though, like insects, volcanoes, diagramming sentences, housework, and 1990s boy bands. Does that pardon me for my negativity about snow, or am I just a Southern anomaly? Everyone around me seems to love it, or else they did. If Facebook updates are any indication, I may have converted some people over to my side. If not, the next time Ken Cook starts prancing around in the red vest, sleeves rolled up and shouting about a winter wonderland, you all need to remember the way you are feeling right now...trapped, anxious, and something like Jack Torrance from The Shining.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go brush off the grill and get ready to grill some hamburgers, set off some sparklers, ride my aerobic step down the hill and make some snow cream with what is left of my egg nog stash. See? I'm not that big of a downer. I know how to have fun. But, I'm a lot more fun when Ken isn't wearing the red vest.
