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Truitt: Fed up with the constant winter weather

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By Ginger Truitt

Two months ago, I was whooping and hollering with excitement. “Snow! I love snow! Bring on the snow!!”

I’m not an outdoors person, but on the first two days of subzero temps, I spent more time outside than I have the last twelve summers combined. I was making snow angels and digging through drifts just for fun. I took a broom and eagerly brushed the light, fluffy snow from our vehicles, laughing gaily when a mound blew from atop hubby’s truck and landed squarely on my head. The air was still, the landscape pristine, and my heart was at peace.

Being snowed in was cozy and romantic. Frozen pipes? No big deal. Who needs water when there is love and a steady supply of beautiful snowflakes drifting against the back door?

No electricity? What does that matter when you have a gas fireplace, an air mattress, and two snuggly children to cuddle?

Besides, nothing lasts forever, right?

Wrong! It will never end. I fear we are going to be eternally lost in this polar vortex, escaped only by death or the rare flight that has not been grounded at the airport.

When hubby made his escape on one of those rare flights, I was left on my own to contend with all snow related matters. Initially, this did not deter my enthusiasm. After all, I had no doubt I would soon be elected president of the Let It Snow club.

I returned from the airport to find that during my two hour absence, the pipes had frozen again. I had really hoped to knock out the accumulated mountain of dirty dishes, but instead I set about unthawing. I ran up and down, to and fro, with hair dryers and space heaters, all to no avail.

Pulling numb hands into the sleeves of my sweatshirt, I realized that the air felt quite brisk. I kicked up the thermostat and waited. Nothing. Hubby gone, pipes frozen, furnace on the blink, the weekend was shaping up nicely.

That night, I pulled the little ones close, and watched the flames dance in the fireplace, gradually sinking to the floor as some child had poked a hole in the air mattress. We drifted to sleep, only to be awakened a short time later by a telephone call, “Mom, I’m okay, but I hit a tree, and then one of my friends came around the curve and rear ended me.”

Ten kids were involved in the accident, but thankfully no one was injured. I spent the remainder of the night making various phone calls and trying to find a tow truck that didn’t have AAA’s 12-hour wait.

By Thursday, snow drifts were so deep around the back door that I had to carry my six-year-old to the truck. I wondered if he will remember these days as fondly as I remember the blizzard of ’78. It’s much more pleasant when you are the kid instead of the responsible adult.

Forcefully sweeping snow from the vehicle, I did not laugh gaily when a mound landed squarely on my head. I climbed into the truck, and then realized the end of the driveway had been plowed shut. Switching to four wheel drive and flooring the accelerator, I blasted through the snow embankment and directly into the twin snow bank across the road.

The air was still, the landscape nearly pristine, but my heart was not at peace. “Uncle!” I cried. “I give!”

Not only have I withdrawn my presidential candidacy, I have cancelled what I thought would be a lifetime membership to the Let It Snow club. I have officially had enough to last a lifetime.

Ginger is an author, speaker, and mother of five. Contact her at ginger@gingertruitt.com or find her on Facebook (Ginger Truitt-Author) and Twitter (@GingerTruitt).