I think it’s safe to say that going away for a weekend has its cost. The weekend itself and the problems that await you when you get home. It never fails that something, at least in my house, happens every single time I go away. I’m convinced that I should lock myself in and say screw it to my own life so I don’t have to deal with the shit when I come home.

I’m packing up the house, trading in the Jeep for a Porsche, going to a plastic surgeon so I can get a double D boob job, to my stylist to dye my hair platinum blonde, and I’m outta here.

This trip was no different. After a four hour delay, thanks to US Scareways, I finally arrive back in Syracuse at 9:30pm. It is a frigid -7 with 35mph wind gusts and all I want to do is get in my car and head home. The roads appear to be clear, the skies are clear, and I think I’ll be ok to drive my Mustang back home (first mistake of the weekend .. taking the Mustang). My cell phone is dead, so I stop at a roadside phone and call home to let the kiddos know I’m on my way. I get the message that my son is on the way to get me, he doesn’t want me driving home in the bad weather further north. I repark the car in the airport garage, where it still remains, and go find him.

As I’m walking up, I see the look on his face that already fills me with all kinds of ominous thoughts. He explains to me that on the way to pick me up, he was sideswiped by another car, all it did was knock the drivers side mirror off the car, and the other guy didn’t stop. I always give my kids the benefit of the doubt, but damn, this was hard. However, I let it go and didn’t say anything. I walk to the garage to find my brand new Jeep Commander scarred and disfigured. I’m feeling pretty freaking sad at this point. I know Tyler feels bad, so I keep my comments to myself.

A slow thaw after a big snow. That’s what we had a about 3 or 4 years ago. Think that was the last big snow around here. I’m in the Northeast - where it’s supposed to snow. We anticipate blizzards. We accept that we’ll be digging out our cars. It’s a ritual expected every year, and it wouldn’t be winter without at least one good snowstorm.

Several years ago, a blizzard at our condo left about 3 feet of snow and ice piled on the roof and hanging off the eave - defying gravity. Neighbors actually thought the roof was going to cave in, and we stood around waiting on the giant block of snow/ice to fall off. Even had a mini-party celebrating the snow mass’ ultimate demise. (Can’t find the pictures I took back then. That snowmass was pretty impressive.)

Call me crazy, but I envy those of you engulfed in snow. Really, truly I do. And I’m really depressed about it, too. I love the silence of the falling snow, and the pristine beauty of a fresh snow - looking out at the mounds of marshmallow drifts. It’s a calming and relaxing distraction from my stress-filled life.

Take two feet of snow, a snowday, and four testosterone-riddled teenage boys, and what do you get?

The Jr Polar Bear Club.

[audio:itscold.mp3]

Proud (??) to say one of them is my nephew. Wonder how long it took them to thaw out afterwards? Wonder if getting a tattoo would be less painful? Wonder if they were drunk? Nah, just crazy!

But it seems there’s something missing. Ah yes - *how* could we forget!?

As I lay here in the enveloping warmth of my bed, outside there is a raging blizzard - a Noreaster. As I glance out the window, it’s a total whiteout. A mass of semi-melted marshmallows - that’s what it looks like - very puffy.

Earlier - around 6ish this morning - the unmistakable sound of a snow plow rudely wakened me from my sound sleep. And to be honest, I hadn’t planned on being an early riser this Sunday morning. It was only four hours earlier - after a fitful attempt - that I finally succumbed to sleep.

Now, one cup of coffee later, I’m wide awake - watching the morning flick on TCM - “What’s New Pussycat?” Although there’s a pile of laundry requiring my attention, and other mundane tasks following that, I think I’m just going to remain enveloped in the warmth of my bed.

Well, at least until I’m beckoned for hot chocolate and mini-marshmallows.