We are getting snow again, or should I say still. It seems as though it has snowed every day this winter. I don’t even notice much anymore, it’s pretty much a given. I didn’t realize how much we had received over the night, though it was a thick blanket. Luckily Alex and I were both able to get out of the driveway so I could procrastinate the clearing of the driveway in the futile hope that the sun would miraculously present itself and rescue me by melting all of the fluffy white stuff. No such luck.

I took the afternoon off from work to spend with Elijah since he had a half day at school, but I end up spending the first hour or 2 dealing with the spoils of winter. I fortify myself to brave the cold. I put on 2 coats, and 3 pairs of gloves to keep my fingers from going numb. Of course it doesn’t occur to me to check the gas and I run out after I have barely begun. So now, I must add a trip out on the horrible roads to the gas station for a refill. I briefly consider just letting it sit there, but I know Alex needs to get in so I sigh and load the gas can in the back of my car. I can’t imagine why the other customers at the gas station are looking at me oddly, perhaps it’s because I loosely resemble a female version of Ralphie from A Christmas Story with my layer and padding and eye slit holes. I manage to get the job done, but not without some internal cursing at my husband. He should be the one out here freezing his butt off. I don’t want to do this crap. He’ll say hire someone, but I can’t afford to hire everything I don’t like to do. That would be nice, but it’s not the reality we live in.

Two of my fingers are blue and stinging so badly I want to cry, but I just plunge them in the hot water and try to keep the groans down to a minimum so I don’t frighten Elijah. He worries about me enough already. It doesn’t take too long before I get the use of my fingers back again and I am able to make hot cocoa and play a game with my boy. We spend what’s left of our time playing Parcheesi and relishing being inside in the warmth.

I haven’t made cookies in so long. I’m feeling in a domestic motherly mood, probably moved by the blowing, fluffy storm outside our window and the smiling children with pleading looks in the living room. I have already taken the afternoon from work and I don’t feel like giving up this “Leave it to Beaver” moment so I break out the cookie sheets and chocolate chips and dive in. I manage to burn one sheet, because I get sidetracked by something. We laugh about how we should put those in the cookie jar and save them for Anthony. The kids are convinced that dad will eat the 2 week old petrified and burnt cookies without complaint. I am sure they are right. I miss my husband, the sweet man that would eat burnt cookies and tell me they are delicious. I miss him very much.