November 21, 2010
I think I may be on the road to recovery.
My first thought when I opened my eyes this morning, an event that occured as a result of the becoming-too-normal-for-my-liking-prompt from Frankie, was not,
Please just shoot me.
It was more like,
Where's the coffee and how cold is it going to be when I take the hounds out for their morning pee?
Good signs, good signs.
It snowed yesterday.
During one of my brief waking moments, I looked out the window, and in my tampons-shoved-up-nose-meets-Selma-from-The-Simpsons-voice, I exclaimed,
OH MY GOD!
And then,
Does anyone else know its snowing????
To my children who were sitting at the kitchen table.
With a picture window to their right.
My first thought was, shit, the snow tires aren't on the car yet!
My next utterance, in my same tampons-shoved-up-nose-meets-Selma-from-The-Simpsons-voice, was,
"Stephen, you need to make an appointment to get the snow tires put on the car!"
Delegation.
It's all about delegation.
Until I owned my own house and a car, I loved snow.
School cancelled snow.
Send the kids outside to play so I can have some peace and quiet snow.
Feeding peanuts to the squirrels snow.
Once I became a home/car owner, things changed.
The first snowstorm in our home was quite a memorable experience.
I wake up, look outside at what was at least waist high snow, and am hit by an epiphany so shocking I almost fell over.
There was no landlord with a truck and snow pushing thingy on it to clear my driveway.
*I* was the landlord.
My next thought was, do I even have a shovel?
I did.
Two in fact.
Don't ask me how that happened.
That was my first shoveling my entire driveway by myself experience, while the kids were snug and warm inside the house, popping out periodically to ask me when I was coming in to make them lunch.
Then I realized that I didn't even own a car, so what reason did I have to shovel the driveway?
That lasted one snowstorm, when afterwards, I realized the consequences of my rash and not properly thought out decision.
Canada Post.
Apparently, mail people don't like slogging through the snow to put your unpaid bill notices in your mailbox.
Imagine that.
And getting groceries from cab to kitchen while trudging along a not very well made path from street to step wasn't as pleasant as you would think it should have been.
So that solution was a bust.
And from then on, I have accepted that shoveling the driveway is something I just can't avoid.
Now I actually enjoy it.
Because like doing dishes and hanging laundry, shoveling the driveway after a snowstorm falls into the this-is-not-a-fun-filled-family-activity-even-if-Mum-thinks-it-should-be category.
Meaning, as I am always the first one up in our house, I am the first one outside shoveling through the snow.
With my ipod and my I-don't-care-if-you-don't-like-my-rendition-of-Body Bounce-attitude, singing at the top of my lungs while I shovel.
Shoveling becomes an onerous activity in two instances: one, when there has been so much snow already that the pile on either side of the driveway has exceeded my my 5'4" height requirement, and I have to find someway to haul it over my head without dumping in all over me.
Lucky for us, we live in a u-shaped court, which means I can shovel the snow across the street and into the island, so long as it looks like I've made an effort to actually put the snow in the middle of the island, as opposed to waiting for the city trucks to plow my snow into the island.
So far, so good.
No complaints.
Not that I'd listen if there were.
Two, which is actually FAR more annoying, is when I have spent the entire day working on making my driveway as neat and well shoveled as I possibly can.
For some reason, I am quite anal about the driveway.
I have no idea why, considering I'm not that anal about much related to housework, except laundry hanging and winter driveways.
Odd, isn't it.
So, when I wake up the next morning, sore from shoveling, but happy in the knowledge that I did a good job, I don't want to see at the end of my driveway a mountain of ice and snow put there by the plows during one of their starlight-runs.
Because inevitably, these snow barricades occur on a morning when I am already late.
And getting the kids out of bed is hard enough.
Getting Stephen out of bed is as close to impossible as you can get.
So getting everyone up and out in enough time to clear the end of the driveway of its ice and snow cargo is never the most pleasant way to start the day.
Its never soft, fluffy easy to move snow.
Oh no. That would be too simple.
It's always rock hard ice and snow boulders that could snap the end off your shovel if you're not careful snow.
Inevitably, I am already dressed for work during these morning snow tests-of-endurance-and-my-love-for-my-children-and-husband.
Outside, wind and snow blowing, trying to move boulder size chunks of ice and snow, all while wearing my workday attire, most often a dress or skirt.
And don't even ask what is going through my head when I am out there struggling with my cantankerous, kvetching kids, my hot-tempered, iracible husband and my shovel, while my neighbours are snow blowing their way through their end-of-driveway obstructions.
Begging the question, why don't we invest in a snowblower?
Because children are made for the sole purpose of shoveling snow in the winter.
That's what my parents thought, and this is how I get back at the world for the endless days and nights shoveling the driveway at my parent's house.
When the kids move out, then I will get a snowblower.
And hope and pray that Stephen doesn't lose an arm or leg while using it.
So for now, I'll enjoy the dusting of snow on my front lawn.
Knowing that shortly, the dusting will turn into piles, and the piles will turn into mountains.
I won't be able to back out of my driveway because no one will be able to see if there is anything coming.
Meaning that I will again provide free entertainment for all my neighbours who enjoy watching me try to back the car into the driveway.
And when Stephen doesn't back the car into the driveway, and I'll suggest, in my ever so gentle and dulcet, sweet and loving, caring and respectful tones that perhaps he would consider going back out to turn the car around.
Perhaps this winter we'll avoid the humiliation of not being able to garner enough traction to drive up Kimble, resulting in Keith and Emily having to push us up the road while the cars behind us nudge them onward with their bumpers.
Any maybe this winter, Stephen will listen when I ask that he not take the dogs to the farm during a snowstorm, resulting in him getting the car stuck in a ditch, walking home with the dogs in said snowstorm, getting me and Keith out of our warm, comfort zone and into a cab to take us back to where the car is, while Em stays home and has a bath, and in spite of our best efforts the three of us can't get the car out of the ditch, so we have to call Em, get her out of the bath, ask her to get us the number for a tow truck, call the tow truck from Keith's cell phone and wait in the middle of a raging blizzard for the tow truck to get to us, pull the car out of the ditch, pay the tow truck driver and then go home to where it takes me two days to speak to Stephen again in a civil tone because the man just. will. not. listen. to. reason.
Because there is something about snow storms, men and a need to drive the car that I just cannot fathom.
I know it has to do with testosterone and an animal instinct to conquer Mother Nature.
But beyond that, none of it makes sense to me.
So as soon as I realize we are in the midst of a blizzard, I have to confiscate all the car keys and threaten Stephen with some horrible fate if he even thinks of going out with the dogs and car.
But I shouldn't have to do this.
Common sense should prevail.
Snow storm + Stephen = lunacy so I am not taking any chances this winter.
Stephen, consider yourself warned.
Winter.
Yippee.
Yeah.
Call me when its all over.
Title Lyric: While I Shovel the Snow by The Walkmen
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