Been There, Done That

Published:

They say we're headed for a heat wave -- it should be up to about 60 degrees this weekend. Awesome. I'm all for 60-degree temperatures in January. The bad news is that it's just going to turn all the snow into ice.

It seems like every year the prayers of those do-gooder "White Christmas" folks get answered. Nothing warms their little hearts more than snow on the ground for Christmas. I understand it's winter time in Ohio and we're going to have snow at some point, but on the holiday itself is just harsh. Oh, if you're sitting home sipping a sherry by the fireplace, looking out the window singing "Let it Snow," it's fine.

We're usually trying to pack up the car with kids and presents and head off to Grandma and Grandpa's house. Then we pack up the car with kids and presents and head over to the other Grandma and Grandpa's house.

Besides fighting poor road conditions, we have to deal with all the other morons out there who have forgotten how to drive in the snow. They've lived here their whole lives, they've done this every year -- it's not their first rodeo -- and now they can't drive in snow anymore.

And speaking of road conditions, I'm sure the snow plow guys could spell it all out for me, but if the weather guy is calling for a big snowstorm, why can't we put some salt down before it gets here? We know it's coming.

Granted, with a snowstorm, the weather guy is possibly going to be wrong. It's the only job anywhere where you can be wrong more than 50 percent of the time and still work there. If I did that, I'd be making new friends in the unemployment line.

The only ones at my house who are bummed to see the snow disappearing are the dogs. They love the snow. They practically dance in it. At just a few days past his first birthday, Bo is thrilled to pieces with snow. At just over 11 years old, Duke tries to act disinterested but he's just as much a sucker for a good snowball fight as the next dog.

The snow we got last week was perfect snowball snow. Watching a dog catch a snowball that disappears into a cloud around his face the second he touches it and then see him search frantically for the invisible "ball" is priceless. Funny, but wrong. If you pack snowballs good and tight so they hold together, he's going to look like an ex-hockey player if he ever does catch one.

Duke might be up for a snowball fight, but I'd doubt we'd ever get him on a sled again. Our driveway slopes down toward the garage and so last year, the kids were taking turns pushing each other on the sled. Next thing you know, it's me on the sled with Duke running along beside me. He must have thought it looked like a great game. Right up until I talked him into joining me.

He white-knuckled it the whole way to the garage. It's not like we were really going to smack right into it. Although I don't think I've ever really heard a dog scream before.

And as for the snow, I guess I was wrong. The dogs aren't the only ones sad to see it go. Now our oldest son can see all the stuff that got left laying around in the yard that needs to be dealt with. Great.

And with all the melting going on, we have to run the pump to get the water out of the basement. And it always ends up in the driveway. I don't care where you aim that hose, it ends up in the driveway, which is already slicker than all get-out.

Last night, the driveway was terrible. Yeah, the snow was melting, but that just left ice. When I take Bo outside on his leash, he's always in a big hurry to get where he's going and just drags me along behind him. On ice, though, he has to cut it out or we're both going to end up in a wad.

It took me four trips, but I managed to sprinkle a path of salt from the back door to the garage so I could at least take the dogs out. That didn't do squat for me this morning. I might as well have crawled to the Jeep because the ground is where I was going to end up anyway.

There was an episode years ago that's still brought up each and every winter. I had just gotten our 4-year-old hooked into the passenger seat of my Bronco and went over to the driver's side and opened the door. Just as I grabbed a hold of the steering wheel to hoist myself in, I slid completely under the Bronco, still holding onto the steering wheel with one hand. As I struggled to right myself, all I heard was "Mommy? Mommy, where are you?"

Give me a minute. I'm in girlie shoes and I can't get any traction. I'm not Jesus. I can't walk on water. Not even the frozen kind.

Copyright 2013 Laura Nethken

Want to leave your comments?

Sign in or Register to comment.