Now, all that said, I'm not complaining. Sure, the aforementioned things are kinda sucky, but I LOVE the snow! Like, LOVELOVE. Like, it's childish, even. All those things most would complain about? I love 'em!
The bundling up? Check!
Being snowed in, with no where to go? Check!
Building snowmen! Check! (Except when you get that light, useless snow. That's a bitch.)
The winter weather warnings that threaten power outages? Check. (Well, mostly.)
The skiing? Check! (Okay, so I haven't been in years...)
Okay, so let me revise my previous statement. I love the snowstorm ITSELF and maybe like A DAY afterward. But after that, it's kind of boring, come to think of it. Once it's fallen and assumed its position on your front yard, snow is like an old dog that used to be cool but now you're just wondering about the most humane way to put it down.
And, wait, because I should probably disclose that I have some issues with snow on the day after a snowstorm because usually this entails shoveling. And while I never (really, never) dread shoveling--I usually volunteer!--once I'm out there for about ten or so minutes, I begin filling with an unhealthy and disproportionate amount of rage. Am I mad at the fact that my husband isn't out there shoveling? Nope. Am I mad at my neighbors for throwing all their snow in MY spot and now I have to walk back and forth across the driveway, negotiating dangerous patches of sinister ice? No--! (Eh, maybe.) Am I mad at the plow guy for barricading my driveway with that impossible mixture of ice, snow, sand, and salt? Well, it's hard not to blame him, you see...
But back to the shoveling. Our most recent snowstorm brought only about 4 inches or less. I was not at all bothered by the prospect of shoveling. (Yes, despite the fact that every other incident was preceded by exactly the same cheery disposition only to be crushed with fury and loathing soon thereafter. Shut it.) WELL. That morning, the fury came more quickly when my shoveling attempts were matched with a very light, dry snow and a very bitter, whipping wind.
Every shovel I tossed off my driveway and onto my lawn was blown directly back at me, landing squarely in my face, neck, and any other crevice of my bundle of clothing. This? You could say this is mildly irritating.
But STILL guys, the snowstorm itself is WAY awesome! I SWEAR! You've got the exciting weather updates during every commercial break (and echoed via text from my mother who gets excited about the weather like I do about cake), the crazy traffic at the grocery store where people who seem to be preparing to be snowed in with volcanic ash and lava rather than, ah, snow, and there are the eager, incessant shrieks of children bellowing through the house, pausing only to begin begging to GO OUT AND PLAY?! CAN WE GO OUT AND PLAY IN THE BLIZZARD?! CANWECANWECANWECANWE?!?! Actually, now that I think of it, even Husband is typically in a sour mood as we hunker down, dreading the snow clean-up process, worried we'll lose power, and yearning for those days when the sun shone for more than two hours at a time.
It's, you know...cozy.
I love it. I mean, REALLY. Despite the fact that my facial expression, verbal outbursts, and sobbing might suggest otherwise.
They're calling for snow on Wednesday. Ahem.