So by now you should all know that I’m from Texas. Born and raised. Tried and true. Blessed and dressed.
(Sorry. I couldn’t come up with a third one. Blessed and dressed was the best I could do.)
Also by now you should all know that Lazy Dad is from Wisconsin. Poor thing.
Hahaha! I’m just kidding, don’t all you Wisconsin folks get your panties in a wad! I’m KIDDING.
Anyway, the first two years of our marriage landed us in Lazy Dad’s hometown in Wisconsin. Or in other words… SNOWVILLE.
Snow, snow and more snow came down my first winter “in the north.” But I kept holding on to the promise of Spring and warmth and sunshine.
But seeing that I’m from Texas and spring down there sprungs ’round middle of March, I was fully expecting spring to sprung in Wisconsin at the same time.
And nobody bothered to tell me different.
So yeah… March rolls around and I’m planning on wearing flip flops, sun screen and a bikini.
By the way, I’m totally kidding about the bikini. I’ve never owned one. As in, EVER. And it’s not just because I’m a good Christian girl. It’s because I jiggle and such.
Anyway, I’m dreaming of sunshine. Pulling out spring like clothes. Making plans to get ice cream in the blazing sunshine.
And it just kept snowing.
All through March.
AND THEN INTO APRIL.
It finally decided to “warm up” to a sweltering 55 degrees around late April/early May.
To which all the Wisconsin people started parading around in shorts and tank tops.
I’m still wearing long sleeves and jeans (which I quickly learned is spring attire “in the north”). Although I did shed my jacket. But only because I was tired of wearing it!
Anyway, I didn’t really mean to head down the whole spring thing in this post. I mainly wanted to tell you all about how I don’t know how to shovel.
Snow, that is.
Or at least that’s what I would say anytime Lazy Dad asked me to help him shovel the white stuff.
“I just don’t know how to shovel snow!” I would say in my best helpless Southern Belle voice.
And he’d chuckle a bit and tromp out to his snowy sweat shop shaking his head.
After two years of living in the frozen tundra called Wisconsin, we moved to another Midwestern state… Ohio.
The snow wasn’t so bad there. At least there it would snow and then melt a few days later. That was nice. But when a snow storm would dump a load on us, I’d pull out my trusty, “I just don’t know how to shovel snow,” line and off he’d tromp. But this time rolling his eyes. No chuckles.
So for good measure I’d throw out there, “Now, if this were good ol’ East Texas red dirt, I’d know how to shovel that! But this snow, nonsense, I just don’t know how to shovel it!”
I’m happy to report that this helpless bit I acted out every winter got me to year 9 of our marriage. YEAR NINE!
This either means one of two things….
I’m a great actress.
Or Lazy Dad’s a patient man.
I’ll just let you pick whichever one you think is more true.
Yes, nine years of getting out of shoveling snow. I think it helped that I was pregnant or caring for young children most of those years.
It may have also helped that I was a gorgeous helpless Southern Belle.
But again, I’ll let you figure out which of those is more true.
Anyway, when it was year nine of our marriage and yet another snowstorm had hit, I felt sorry for Lazy Dad out there shoveling in the dark snow storm alone, so I decided I’d go out and help the poor man.
That and he said something to the affect of “You need to get out here and help me shovel, woman!”
Again, you decide which is more true.
Oh, and he didn’t say “woman” at the end of that. I just added that for emphasis.
So out I went. To shovel. Snow. Not good ol’ East Texas red dirt.
It was hard, back breaking, sweaty work.
I hated every minute, no, no, every second, no, no, every millisecond of it.
So this year… year 10 of marriage (going on 11) I’m back to my “I just don’t know how to shovel snow,” line.
That, and I throw the 9 year old out there and say, “Here! Take the oldest child! He needs to learn how to shovel snow! Besides, he likes it!”
And he does. He’s always wanting to shovel snow. Even in the summer he says, “I can’t wait till winter so I can shovel snow.” And I’m not even lying about that. He loves shoveling the white fluffy stuff. Maybe because he was born in Wisconsin. I don’t know.
I do know he definitely wasn’t born in Texas. Or in the winter he’d be saying, “I can’t wait till summer so I can shovel red dirt!”
That’s all I know.
That, and I don’t know how to shovel snow.