Is everyone tired of hearing me bitch about winter yet? Yeah? Well, you’re not nearly as tired of hearing me bitch about it as I am tired of having it to bitch about.
The latest storm happened Wednesday, and it was just too awesome for words. First, it snowed and snowed and snowed, and then it snowed some more, so school was canceled, and Mommy taking the kids out of the house for a few hours was canceled, and Daddy’s ability to string together two coherent thoughts was canceled, because, oh, sweet Jesus, The Screaming!
The Screaming started early, and lasted long, and was so ear-piercingly shrill that my eardrums? They committed suicide. I’m deaf now. What?
The onset of The Screaming always sends a jolt through my whole body—a chemical surge that I’m sure is leftover from the days when a little girl screaming bloody murder meant that a sabre-tooth tiger was dragging her off to its cave, and it was up to Daddy to rescue her. So I guess that chemical surge is the ol’ “fight or flight” response—mixed with my own special blend of “shut the fuck up” response.
And sometimes, the chemical cocktail coursing through my veins as a result of The Screaming causes my judgementometer to go kaplooey, and I say things like “STOP THAT SCREAMING ALREADY! JESUS!” Which I did yesterday, because, I’m telling you, The Screaming was of a pitch and timbre and duration that would have caused Ghandi to take up arms. And nothing stops a screaming child better than a screaming parent, am I right? OK, not so much.
Eventually, she quieted down, and, later in the day—hours and hours later—she helped me realize what a tool I am when she came into my office (dressed as Dora the Explorer, no less; adorable) …
… and said, “Daddy, I was screaming and crying because my bummy was hurting.” My yelling had stayed with her all day long—and, Hi! My name’s Jon and I’m a flaming asshole! Nice to meet you!
Apparently, she had some kind of rash that was causing her tremendous pain and discomfort, and my contribution to consoling her was to holler at her through my office door. (In my defense, I knew Mommy was tending to her the entire time; it’s not as though, had I been home alone with the kids, I’d have left her screaming like that—for long. No more than a half hour, anyway. Maybe an hour. Actually, it would depend on what I was doing.)
But back to the storm.
The snow finally let up in the late afternoon, and this is the point at which I would normally have strapped on my snow gear and headed out to begin shoveling. But, unlike the other snowstorms we’ve had this season, the cessation of the snow on Wednesday was caused not by an end to the precipitation, but rather as a result of the temperature making that one-degree jump to 33 Fahrenheit, thereby creating a freezing-rain storm that lasted for hours. In fact, it was still raging when I headed outside at 6 p.m. to begin shoveling—a bullet I bit because I knew the temperature would soon be dropping back below the freezing line, and nothing short of a jackhammer and dynamite would have removed the 4-to-6-inches of slush that would have frozen solid all over the steps and walkways and driveway.
So there I was, shoveling this slop that weighed about a gazillion pounds per scoop. And, in a storm like this, the end of the driveway? Well, that is just a delight almost too scrumptious for words, but I’ll try: when the enormous town plows go by as they clear the street, their enormous plow blades launch into the opening of one’s driveway an enormous wave of enormously wet and heavy and tightly packed slush and snow and ice … and the more times they go by during the storm, the more enormous and wet and heavy and frozen and tightly packed the whole mess becomes. By the time I got to it, it had morphed into a titanium alloy, and its removal caused my shovel to break—and I gotta tell ya, that was awesome, because, by that point, as I stood in the gutter of the street with a small river coursing over the tops of my (new and, thankfully, waterproof) boots, I had become a little bored with the simplicity of shoveling with a perfectly functional shovel, so clearing the remaining snow and slush and ice with a shovel that had to be handled just so in order to prevent the entire scooping thingamajig from snapping off was the exact type of challenge for which I had been yearning. So, thanks, Fate. You rock.
Now, the whacky thing about all of this is: part of me actually enjoys having to do that job. Maybe not the actual “doing the job” part, but the sense of accomplishment I get from spending two hours outside in a freezing-rain storm doing what needs to be done. I think it’s a holdover from my Army days; there’s something about conquering a demanding challenge that makes you appreciate things a little more. Never has a shower felt better, nor a bottled water tasted more delicious than they did after I dragged my sopping-wet ass back indoors the other night.
Of course, it could also just be that I enjoy going outside to shovel in a freezing-rain storm because it means I have two hours to listen to my iPod undisturbed without having to wipe someone else’s butt or break up a fight or, god forbid, endure more of The Screaming.
11 Comments
I grew up in Western Mass…I understand the kind of snow you are speaking of. I now live in southern Ohio. We got snow and ice too…and school hasn’t been in session since TUESDAY. It’s as if there is only one plow for the city ~ and sadly, while I was escaping the house today, I saw that plow get in an accident with a tow truck. Now our streets will never be cleared and the children of my neighborhood will never get an education…If I had a school aged child I think I would have buried myself in a snowbank by now…with a bottle of vodka.
I’m so glad you did the text ad thing on Dooce because I’d never have found you otherwise and I really enjoy your writing and your sense of humor. Right now I feel the need to apologize though, for I am writing from Texas where I just shivered because the temp is in the 60s. So, I know not of what you write, but you write it well.
Jessica: Oy vey! Yeah, I think the vodka route sounds about right.
Alison: I’m so glad I did the text ad thing on Dooce, too … because I’m psyched to have grabbed the attention of readers like you. Much more rewarding to write for an audience than for an empty room. And thank you very much for the compliment on my writing. I really appreciate it.
You are not writing to an empty room. I can’t identify with the snow stuff (I wore sandals to work today) but your description of it is very entertaining. I’m becoming a loyal fan. Thanks, Dooce!
I did see snow once. In 1989. My daughter was 3.We got about an inch and a half on Christmas Eve. Savannah shut down for two days. We built snowmen (ok snow little people). It was magical! But no shoveling was required………
Wow…I just found your blog and it just freakin’ rocks. Not only do I feel for you re the snow/ice issue – I live in Sweden. Not that we have any snow right now but we might as well have – we’re sooo mentally prepared for it. (That’s what generations of forefathers have carved into our genes…I am fully expecting global warming to wreck havoc as it collides with inborn hibernating instincts.
…but you’ve also showed me that it is possible to maintain atleast a minimum of sanity as a parent (or at the very least, a sense of humor re the lack thereof). The 60 hours I spent babysitting my 2 year-old godson while his parents were bringing home number 3 made me think I’d rather grow orchids in Sibera than to attempt parenthood. Especially as his 14 year old big brother decided to become violently ill to the stomach (yuckyuckyuck…bedroom! bathroom! hallway!) just as I had finally put the 2-year old to bed (NO GO BED! NO GO BED! NOGOBEDNOGOBEDNOGOBED!!!!).
(Oh, and THANK YOU for that brilliant NIN-remix link! I tend to comment once in never or so I just figured I’d go ahead and say everything at once.)
Oooh, that’s a tough one – shoveling snow or wiping butts?
OMG – that Dora is as cute as a button. Are you sure she is yours?
Hello! I found a link to your site on Heather Armstrong’s site maybe a month ago and have been following ever since. It’s refreshing to follow a blog from my neck of the woods (I’m in Boston). I love your site and your kids are adorable. The Dora costume is hands down my favorite picture thus far. So cute.
Julie: Thanks very much for the compliment. Glad you’re enjoying my writing. And if you ever wanna get the real shoveling experience, lemme know; you can dig us out next time.
Michelle: I’m going with shoveling every time on that one.
Belle: I’d love to say I take offense at that remark, but I’m with you: I don’t know where this kid came from. She came out of the womb with flaming orange hair and a face that looked like a punch-drunk boxer. I’ve been wondering who the real dad is ever since.
Lindsey: Thanks so much for the compliment. Glad you like my site.
Hi! Found you from Dooce. We are finally getting some warm weather over in Iowa but who knows for how long. I’d rather go out and shovel too and leave the hubby inside to deal with kid drama for a bit.
Tess: Yes, it’s amazing how one’s perspective on solitary tasks like shoveling can change dramatically when the option is childcare.