We are on “snowquester” watch. I am not joking, that is the name the weather people have made up for the latest snow event that is due to hit our area later today and tomorrow. We haven’t had a good snowfall amount since “snowmageddon” in 2011. My kids are keeping their fingers crossed and are planning to wear pj’s inside out so they can have a day off from school tomorrow. If they don’t have school, they will somehow know it ahead of time and will bounce out of bed before the sun rises to make the most of a free day to watch tv, play Legos, and get in some outdoor time.
I have my own plans for a day off from carpooling and errand running, not to mention working at the preschool consignment sale. I dream of catching up on laundry, housework, cooking, planning for our Cub Scout Blue and Gold banquet and squeezing in some reading. My kids will not be happy to learn they are included in some of my plans, but a day off from school should take the sting out of a few chores. Perhaps I should wear my pj’s inside out too. It will be a perfect day if the power stays on.
When I was a child, I don’t remember ever knowing ahead of time that a snowstorm was coming. I definitely don’t remember my mom being as excited as we kids were for a day off from school. I suspect that was because there were so many of us at home. I do remember the magical sight of big fat flakes falling from the sky and watching it from my classroom windows. The cheers that erupted when we learned we would have an early release day were almost as joyful as Christmas. There was at least one occasion when the buses had barely released the students in the morning, when they loaded them back up to return them to the surrounding farms. For those of us who were walkers, we often broke into spontaneous snowball fights and games of king of the mountain. It was a beautiful time. At some point, I began to help my brothers with their snow shoveling business and then snowfalls were not quite as magical.
The best blizzard ever in my memory was sometime in the 1970’s when feet of snow fell and drifted shut the streets near our house. The piles were so high we could walk right up the mountains to the roof of the apartment buildings across the street. By the time, the plows finally cleared our street and we kids went back to school, my mother was probably ready to erupt into a few cheers of her own.
A few years ago, my husband called me from work to say that our area was expecting a big storm and he was thinking of purchasing a snow blower. In reality, he had placed it on hold at Sears, but the call was to prepare me. I told him he was crazy, that we rarely got measurable snow here and that it was gone almost as quickly as it came. He argued that we had three small boys at home, and I would not be able to spend much time helping him shovel for us and our elderly neighbors. When we got dumped on that time and several more times that winter, I was forced to utter those three little words that always get stuck in my throat, “your were right”. It took a huge burden off us and several neighbors and we have come to rely on the snow blower when we get more than an inch or two. Last night, Matt moved the snow blower from the shed to the front of the house and along with our full fridge, we are ready for “snowquester”, but this may jinx the whole thing. We are too prepared and we want it too much.