Saturday, February 09, 2008

Snow Angel

It seems to snow almost everyday these days. When it does, it isn’t wimpy. Each day as I look out my window and see the giant flakes floating down, I get a little bit excited. No, I don’t love winter. I don’t like snow. I’m not all jazzed up to go sledding or have a snowball fight. When I see white, I see exercise equipment.

Each time it snows, Hubby will ask if I would like to do some of the shoveling. After years of home-ownership, we still do not own a snow-blower. And we don’t plan on purchasing one anytime soon either. Armed with a couple of shovels, we have managed to scrape and push our way through many a winter storm. After supper I happily throw on my scarf, hat, thickest winter coat, a pair of gloves and some snow boots that are a size too small. I grab the shovel in the garage and out I go, to make perfect little rows in the white powder. Yes, this feeds my obsessive compulsiveness because I am quite careful about just how the driveway is cleared off.

Especially on the days when I stay home with Reagan, the fresh air is extremely refreshing. After being stuck indoors all day, getting out at all is a treat. It may be cold but that rarely bothers me. I don’t even mind if a little snow/sleet is whipped in my face as I carry out my task.

I figure it must be good for me - to do all that weight lifting. And since a new piece of exercise equipment is even farther down the road in our future than a snow-blower, I take whatever I can get. Sure, sometimes my back aches and my arms burn, but I like to think I’m just that much stronger afterwards.

I fully understand if you don’t find the same joy in your snow-clearing activities. Some of you live in much warmer climates and I really must say, I feel sorry for you at times. No one should have as much fun as I do clearing the snow.

But I’m not talking about my OCD or my silly excuse for a workout. Each night as I clear the driveway and the sidewalks, one very small fuzzy blonde head peers out through our large picture window in our living room. She’s barely tall enough to see over the sill, but carefully her little fingers cling to the wooden frame. Her head turns back and forth to see where I am, and when she sees me waving to her from the driveway, her face lights up. I see her smile grow larger and larger, until she can stand it no more and she waves with both hands. Of course, then she loses her balance and plops down out of my view. Rest assured seconds later she pops back up, checking to make sure I haven’t gone anywhere. Again, she smiles and waves (one hand this time) and then she turns to her Daddy behind her. I can almost hear her giggle through the glass as she tries desperately to explain to him just who exactly is outside and just why on earth she’s so excited. As I push back and forth in perfectly straight lines across the cement, I make sure to stop every few minutes and wave to her. She smiles and waves back at me, watching as I work. It becomes a game of sorts. Sometimes I wave with both arms and make a big goofball out of myself. Our neighbors are probably very close to having me committed. But its so so worth it.

You know, I’ve never gotten cold out there. Most of the time, I just melt.

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