Fourteen Sixteen Inches And Counting
I called a good friend of mine first thing this morning. As soon as she answered I screamed into the phone, "The milk and bread! I forgot the milk and bread! What kind of mother am I?!? We're all going to DIE like the Donner party." Then I hung up.
Don't you wish I had your phone number?
Updated to add: It is 4:18pm and it is STILL snowing. I think we have about 20 inches there now. There is no way Rob is going to make it up the driveway tonight when he gets home from work, unless I go out there and shovel. But it's mediocre Mom and Wife day and I made a hearty stew for dinner and baked bread, which in my book puts me ahead of the game. And snow is cold. I hate the cold.
Updated yet again: I did end up doing the driveway. To clarify, the snowblower was out of gas and really wouldn't have been of much help for the end of the driveway. The problem is that the plow comes down the street and makes a huge pile of snow in front of the driveway. Tonight it was five feet wide and above my waist. All had to be done by hand. By the time I was done the piles on either side of my driveway were as tall as I am. Also by the time I was done I was cursing at all the men driving down the road with their trucks with the plows attached to the front. I hated every minute of it, but consoled myself by imagining that I was tossing away one of the many many Christmas cookies that have attached themselves to my ass with every shovel throw. If only it were that easy.