Is it Thursday? Friday? Tuesday? What the fuck, man, I don’t even know what day it is anymore.
We have had three snow days this week. It has snowed every day in February so far.
This is how snow looks in Halifax:
- ice pellets
- freezing rain
- back to ice pellets
- temperature falls to -20C
I have broken two ice scrapers and a shovel since Monday. The morning after the worst ice event I’ve seen in years, the coating of ice on the cars was two inches thick and took all morning to chisel away. Then Michael got stuck in the road five feet from the driveway and it took another forty-five minutes of pushing, digging, and swearing to get back into the driveway again.
Today Halifax’s municipal government tweeted that “snow storage is at a premium” and I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Why did my ancestors stop in a place that requires storage space for unwanted snow?? They must have been idiots.
My neighbour tried to do a good deed by plowing a strip down the little cul-de-sac in front of our house – because lord knows a Department of Transportation plow won’t show up for at least 24 hours, maybe more like 30 – and he did get a strip, but then couldn’t figure out where to put the snow so he just kind of left it there. I moved it out of the way so vehicles wider than an ATV can get through. At least he tried.
Arthur & Daisy got dropped off at 8:30AM, which was fine, because their mom had to work. About twenty minutes after she left, she sent a text telling me she arrived home safely.
It’s now six hours later. The extra kids will be here for another hour & a half.
There was a brief period where they all played outside – bliss! happiness! – but that’s over now and they’re back inside yelling.
They have for some reason made up a song called “Baa Baa Bad Sheep” that is all about the sheep being a bully and a fool.
Harry twisted his ankle outside and the severity of the injury keeps waxing & waning depending on what he’s doing at any given time (making tea, very mild injury indeed; walking to the bathroom, lurching like a sailor and probably needs a field amputation).
George wants to play with his favourite birthday toys (Avengers Lego) but doesn’t want to share it with anyone, but can’t understand why playing with Coveted Awesome Toys in full view of everyone else is not okay.
Ron has been whining. All day. An almost-seven-year-old, whining! OH NO YOU DON’T. Friday is often movie night but not tonight, no thank you, no way. It’s going to be dinner, bath, bed.
The dog doesn’t like pooping when there is snow on the ground. I’ve cleared him spaces. I’ve shoveled extra paths so he can get around. I’ve taken him out the front door, out the back door, down the road a bit… he is on some sort of poop-strike, which means every so often he lets fly with a toxic rancid fart that makes me eyes water, and then looks at me totally ashamed. It doesn’t help.
I’ve shoveled snow three times today.
Today is a day when I am questioning all of my life choices. All of them. Every single one. I hear them now fighting over who gets to be Spiderman. NONE OF YOU ARE SPIDERMAN, BECAUSE HE’S QUIETLY FILLED WITH ANGST, HE DOESN’T YELL ALL DAY LONG.