4 women. That’s the answer to the riddle: how many women does it take to get a car out of a snow drift? It took 4 of us, and if we’d had some warning, we would have made a casserole to send with the snow-driftee.
Of course, only one of us could drive because it was a stick shift.
But the rest of us dug, pushed, and swore. Actually, the driver swore, too. And I’m so proud of her.
All that Florida weather we’ve been having gave way this past week to sub-zero temperatures and 12 inches of snow. That’s a real 12 inches, as measured by a woman with a ruler (me). I love snow. I don’t care much for sub-zero, unless it comes in stainless steel and says “Wolf” on it. And I’ve been scaling back on the hot cocoa. I can’t remember why right now, but I seem to remember having a good reason.
I have a friend from Canada (“c”-eh, “n”-eh, “d”-eh) who loves to rant about, well, about anything. Currently, it’s about how in Canada they have sub-zero weather for 3 months out of the year and they still walk to school. I don’t say it out loud, but in my head I think, “Barefoot? Uphill?”
Even I, the bastion of close-your-mouth-mothering, couldn’t help myself the other day as I drove my from-the-garage, pre-heated, whinging children to school. “I never got a ride to school until I was 16, and then I scraped the snow off the car and drove myself.” I actually heard my children roll their eyes at me. And I could feel my mother rolling her eyes at me across the vast distance that separates us. “Really? Poor kid. Had her own car at 16 and had to drive it to school. Let me tell you about when I went to school...”
My youngest daughter thinks there’s a good chance her grandfather owned a dinosaur. If you ask her, she laughs and says ‘no’ but then she’ll get a look about her eyes and you’ll see the wheels turning in her head and you know she’s wondering if maybe, just maybe, he really did have a dinosaur that carried him to school on its back. You can see she thinks maybe the good ole days really were a lot better. But you wouldn’t catch her scraping the snow off a dinosaur if she had her own. She’d be a great friend in the summer, but as soon as the first flake fell, she’d leave the poor reptile curled around the house for warmth with a quick “see ya next summer.” She hasn’t given up on the cocoa. In fact, a couple of days ago she dug some dinosaur-age marshmallows from the cupboard, sunk them in a cup, and swore they softened up after awhile. She didn’t break her teeth, so they must not have been as hard as they sounded landing in the mug.