WARNING: I am going to bitch and moan about the weather in Massachusetts. If you’ve heard enough or don’t care, skip this post! 🙂
Three weeks. Six feet of snowfall total. Snowbanks and drifts towering over ten feet. Multi-lane roads cut down to single lanes. Visibility of oncoming traffic on highways nonexistent. No time or appropriate weather for melting in between storms.
The news channels say we are experiencing snow fatigue. Snow fatigue?!
I think it should be more accurately called snow fuck-it-all, I’m moving south forever.
Hey, I live in New England. Yeah sure, everyone up here bitches about the snow from time to time, even though we should really keep our mouths shut because—really—this is New England, people. We all moved here or chose to stay here. We know what we’re in for with our weather.
But this? THIS?!
Thankfully, I am paid for any “snow days” declared by my work (of which there have been four in the last three weeks). My husband, not so much. He’s called out for one night for the last three weeks, including tonight, because of the weather, road conditions, or simply being too exhausted and pissed off to shovel his car out of the driveway.
It’s not exactly how I envisioned my final weeks of pregnancy—the never-ending snow, my husband’s frustration, my guilt over not being able to help, everything we need or want to do around the house or to prepare for our son being constantly postponed, the stress of just driving to and from work whether it’s snowing or not because of poorly-plowed back roads and ever-narrowing main roads and nonexistent visibility when getting on the highways. I used to get Braxton Hicks contractions driving home because of the extended rush hour driving time and the stress. Now I have them going both ways for the same reasons—extended travel time and a hell of a lot of stress.
Alas…there is a light. With the impending Valentine’s Day blizzard looming (which, now that it’s more or less over, not sure if I would qualify it as a blizzard, but it was still pretty bad and warranted a snow emergency for sure), my husband and I decided to buy a snowblower. With weeks to go before baby’s arrival, more things to buy for him and us, and nasty heating expenses as the temperatures continue to stay below 30°…we had been trying to avoid it because we really couldn’t afford it. But after already clearing five feet, spread out over several storms (it’s like the candy dish that never empties, but not even fun or exciting at all), the idea of shoveling another foot was too much.
So on the eve of the storm with less than half an hour to spare before Home Depot closed, we raced to the store. Upon entering, we saw two snowblowers with a couple already touching and discussing one. I walked up and put my hand on the other blower, looking at the price (about $680) and asking my husband what he thought. An employee walked by and I asked if they had any more machines. His response? “These are the last two.” I turned to my husband and softly asked, “You good with this one? You good? You want it? You want it?!” My urgency was sparked by the other customers that began circling like sharks and eyeballing the machine, especially when the other couple walked away with the second-to-last one. The decision was made: this was all they had, so it was ours.
We saved $80 with his military discount (which, to me, justified purchasing a $130 3-year protection plan), and spent over half an hour in the below-zero cold outside struggling to get it in our crossover. We ended up tying it down with more bungee cords than I could count and leaving the trunk door ajar.
And boy, was it all worth it. I posted the below video of my husband breaking in the snowblower this afternoon to my Instagram account earlier today. Booyakasha, Mother Nature. We still hate the snow, but at least my husband will be less miserable and I will feel less guilty.