This is the time of year I begin checking the weather forecast about 85 times a day (unfortunately this is NOT one of my exaggerations for the sake of humour. It’s truth). I check on my laptop, listen to the radio, watch the news and check the weather apps, all of them that I have on the wonder-phone (aka. iPhone). I need to know what’s going to happen!
It’s the time of year when snow happens, at least in some parts of the world and I want to know when it’s going to happen, how many flakes are going to fall, their size, shape and depth. I am annoyed when the weathermen are typical (read: when it’s wrong and I’m all “ya, I knew you would be”), I’m frustrated when it says rain, rain, rain! Instead of snow. And even when I look out the window and discover they were right and there is yet another downpour in progress, I log in again. Just to be sure.
The thing is, I don’t really want the snow. I mean, I do but I don’t. Each morning I look out our window (when the sun finally rises and I can see beyond the dark) and see green grass and brown everything else, I’m disappointed. I can’t wait for the moment when it’s white and crisp, sun shining down on the glittering snow. I love seeing the girls’ faces when they look out and see snow, and hearing all about the snowmans (it’s not snowMEN momma, it’s not!) they’re going to build.
And then the moment dies, I remember school and groceries and driving, and 7lbs of snow gear, and frozen fingers and slush.
I’m afraid of driving in the snow, I don’t like to play in it (because it’s wet and cold) and quickly I feel housebound. I blame the majority of my disdain for the fluffy white stuff on a major vehicle accident from years ago, where I rolled my car, in front of a semi truck. Add to that my desperate need to protect our girls and you have a bucket full of fear.
Then the Christmas carols start to play, the fire kicks in and the smell of whatever I’m baking fills the house. Or I look outside and see Corey and the girls laughing and rolling in the snow and I think, “Hmmm, maybe it’s not so bad after all”. I mean, snow does make Christmas more magical, white more survivable (if you’re 2 and 4) and it’s a lot easier to ride a toboggan down a snow-covered hill rather than a mud encrusted one.
It’s a whole bucket of indecisiveness that both drives my husband nuts and makes him laugh. While I update him on the current state of the weatherman’s intoxication (“Hey, it’s raining outside and they forecasted that. He must be out of beer!”) and the forecast for the next 14 days, Corey snickers away. Who knew he’d married such a winter weather crazy fool.
And as I watch out the window for the first flakes to fall I think to myself, “Hmmm, maybe snow isn’t so bad after all. Or is it?”
Maybe snow isn’t so bad after all? Or is it?