Too Much Snow

Crap.

There was snow.

A lot of snow.

There was a lot of snow and I had planned on driving to the YMCA to sign Tommy up for swim lessons. I pressed my nose against the window. Maybe the snow wasn’t so bad. I could drive through it, no problem. I could—wait—wait, crap. I squinted and saw that there was a car, about the same size as my own, stuck down the street.

That was not a good sign.

But I had to sign Tommy up for swim lessons. Saturday was the only day to do it.

I decided that my only option was to wake up Tom and have him take me. He has a gigantic truck. I don’t drive gigantic trucks. I don’t drive gigantic vehicles period. I’ve never felt comfortable in them. One time I sat in front of the wheel in Tom’s truck and I didn’t like the feeling. I know I should have felt in charge and powerful but I didn’t. Instead I felt like I was going to piss my pants.

I waited until two to get Tom up. He had worked the night shift and I knew he wouldn’t be pleased. But he had come to bed around six (and woke me up, I might add) and he’s always said that he really only needs five hours to be coherent. If I woke him up at 2, he’d have gotten at least eight hours so it would be okay.

I went into our room and rubbed Tom’s back.

“Tom,” I whispered.

He didn’t move.

“Tom,” I said again.

“Who ate the food?” Tom grumbled, turning over.

Huh? Sometimes he says the weirdest things. I should make a video and post it on YouTube just like that one wife who recorded her husband’s night time ramblings.

“No one ate anything. I need you to take us to the YMCA so I can sign Tommy up for swim lessons.”

One of Tom’s eyes cracked open. “Tommy?” He seemed confused, as though he had never heard the name before.

“Yes. Tommy. Your son. Your only heir,” I added.

Tom groaned into the pillow. “You’ve been watching The Tudors haven’t you?”

He always knows when I’ve been watching the The Tudors because I usually use the words “Majesty,” “heir,” and “we must go to the Tower of London someday!” after I’ve indulged in a few episodes.

“I already shoveled the driveway,” I said grandly. It had not been fun. It felt like the driveway went on forever. I was tempted to snap my fingers at the neighborhood kids who were playing outside and then tell them that I’d pay someone ten bucks to finish up. But I didn’t. I finished the job. My arms are aching now. This means I must be exceptionally weak.

I realized that Tom didn’t thank me for shoveling and frowned. Didn’t he realize how long our driveway was? And I had shoved it all on my own. Plus the sidewalks around our house. I always thank him when he shovels. Where was my thanks? Where was—oh, Tom went back to sleep.

“Tom,” I said, shaking him.

His eyes opened again. “Huh?”

“The swim lessons?”

Tom propped himself up on his elbows. “Fkljdafklj,” he mumbled.

“Okay great. See ya downstairs,” I said cheerfully.

Tom did make his way downstairs after taking the longest shower known to man. It must be nice to be able to shower that long without a child popping their head into the curtain and starting a conversation. It’s like, really, do you REALLY think conversing with me NOW is the best time? (Same with when I’m sitting on the toilet. As soon as I’m on my throne a billion questions are thrown at me. The toilet is NOT question and answer time, kids.)

“Is there any water left?” I joked as Tom came into the living room.

He didn’t get the joke. “Huh?” He scratched his head.

“Nevermind.”

We were on our way a few minutes later.

“At least I get to try out my new Kevlar tires,” Tom said with a grin.

“Mmmmm yes, I hope they keep us safe,” I said noncommittally. I’m used to Tom’s obsession over his new tires.

The roads weren’t so bad. Until we got to the YMCA. The roads leading to the YMCA were pretty bad. I would have been petrified if I had driven there in my tiny car. But Tom’s truck easily got through it. When he parked in front of the building he pumped his fist in the air and went, “That’s Kevlar tire power, baby.”

Um, okay.

I ran in to pay for the lessons.

I’m proud to say that Tommy is now a proud member of the Minnow group. He starts March 1st at 630—remind me to DVR The Bachelor. I like to make fun of it see what sort of nonsense Jake will spout.

“Thanks for taking us,” I said to Tom.

“No problem. You should thank the Kevlar tires too.”

I rolled my eyes. “Thank you Kevlar tires.” I cupped my hand around my ear. “What’s that Kevlar tires? You want to get some ice cream?”

Tom smirked. “Ice cream?”

I pretended to be interested in my nail. “Tom, I’m just giving your Kevlar tires what they want…”

Ten minutes later I had a two scoop sundae.

So thanks, Kevlar tires. For real, this time.