Old Man Winter

I went into furious nesting mode on Saturday, ripping apart the house, throwing away junk, organizing closets and cleaning every non-visible inch. I was sure the house would collapse after all the boxes and junk supporting it were suddenly removed. But I was happy to hear our house has built-in support beams and such.

The kids jumped for joy at the sight of the first snowfall which left a whopping three inches on our little town. I was less than amused, as I am not a fan of winter. It's cold, it's wet, it's windy, it's icy and it's expensive to heat this 100 year old house that has more cracks in the walls than my mother's back. (We stepped on a lot of cracks when we were kids and I'm so sorry, Mom.)

I didn't get out the door to Target until almost 4pm, which, around here, is practically the middle of the night these days. I started Chet's car and silently grumbled at him for taking my van hunting as loading three kids into the backseat bundled in their winter duds isn't on my top ten list of fun things to do before I die. I silently rejoiced at the discovery of his heated seats (something I didn't care for on the 105 degree day when we bought the thing) and made my way through town. I silently grumbled again as I remembered this car has rear-wheel drive, which is less than ideal in the winter. I silently rejoiced as I pulled into a front row parking space at Target.

I bought more than I planned to and spent more than I should have and made my way back to the car. I loaded the kids and goods in and turned the key in the ignition. Sputter, sputter, click, click, click, groan. Nothing. It's snowing harder now and it's getting colder. I tried it again. Sputter, sputter, click, click, click, groan. Avery is noticing something is not right.

"Oh, Mom, what is wrong with Daddy's car? Is it so junky?"

I silently agreed with her. After all, this is a 9 year old luxury car with 93,000 miles and the least I would expect it to do is to start.

I got out, opened the hood and pretended to know what I was doing. I opened up the battery cover and wiggled the cables a bit. I checked the oil level and shut the hood. I unplugged the phone charger, turned off the lights, shut my door and tried again. Wah-woosh! The car started!

I silently rejoiced as we pulled onto our street.

Chet came home that night in a grumpy mood. He saw a bobcat, two deer and a black bear and didn't shoot any of them, for which he was now kicking himself. He had to drive home on icy, snowy roads and he had only gotten a few hours of sleep that night before. I, on the other hand, was sore from cleaning all day, irritable from having to drive a junky car and I still had to fold the heaping pile of laundry, go to the grocery store and bathe the kids. We both wanted each other to feel sorry for each other. It doesn't always work that way.

The next morning as Avery was in Sunday School, both still a little grumpy and overtired, we drove to McDonald's and bought some Cinnamon Melts, hash browns and orange juice. Chet pulled into an empty parking lot to eat and in the untouched snow, he made tracks shaped like a heart. (You may now barf.) He beamed at his accomplishment. I gave him one of my Cinnamon Melts. I also smiled. The rest of the day went off without a hitch.