Shoveling Woes

My body was confused.

It was all, “Why are you overworking me?”

I paused and took a deep breath.

Shoveling snow sucks I thought. My heart was thumping unnaturally. I could feel sweat forming on my brow. Gross.

Basically, my body was baffled because I was actually….exercising? Or I was doing something that made it feel like I was exercising.

I stared at my driveway. I still had the other half to shovel.

It sucked.

I got back to work and grunted as I pushed the snow aside. We only got 4 inches but it felt like 40.

I was hunched over, grunting, when I heard someone call my name.

Crap, crap, crap.

It was the lady who lives a few houses down. Why did she look so happy? Didn’t she see all this snow?

“I saw you out,” she began. I’ll call her Fern.

“Yup. Gotta shovel,” I answered in a strained voice. God, I was in pain. I just wanted to go back inside and take a nap.
Fern waved a hand in the air like it was no big deal. “My husband is doing ours now.”

Oh, rub it in Fern. I continued to shovel and knew what was coming.

“Layla is doing ballet, as you know, and she’s doing wonderfully. She wears the cutest little leotard and blah, blah, blah…”

Well, really she didn’t go blah, blah, blah but it came out that way to me.

See, Fern is someone who talks about her kids. Constantly. She’ll show photos of her kids. Constantly. I’m all for being proud of your offspring, but there is such a thing as overkill. Like, I love my kids and think they are fabulous, but I understand that not everyone cares to hear about them on a daily basis.

Fern does not get this.

Fern has 3 kids and they are all apparently perfect angels. I don’t agree, because I’ve seen her kids and one of them once sat in the middle of the street, arms crossed firmly over her chest and refused to move until she was given a lollipop.

“And Deacon is doing indoor soccer and he scored FIVE goals and he blah, blah, blah,” Fern continued.

I rolled my eyes. Fern is one of those mothers who doesn’t send her kids on the bus. When I announced that my son rode the bus she looked like she was about to have a heart attack. “Do you know,” she whispered at me, “what can happen on a bus?” I replied, “Yes. I get to save gas.”

“Layla’s plies are fantastic,” Fern gushed.

“Yeah, the way Natalie jumps off our couch is pretty fantastic, too,” I said.

Fern blinked at me. I don’t think she gets my humor. But Fern is the type of person who would chat up a homeless person about her kids.

“Andrew is starting football,” Fern prattled on.

I wanted to stuff some snow in her mouth. I don’t mind discussing my kids, but it’s not all I want to talk about. It’s why I don’t constantly dedicate blog posts to them. I’m still me, Amber, the chick who loves chocolate, writing, books, and discussing if there ever will be a show as good as Lost again.

I had to stop shoveling again. I felt like I was going to faint.

“Are you okay?” Fern asked. “You look pale.”

I nodded. “I’ll be fine. It’s probably this hat I’m wearing.” I am not a hat person. I tend to look sickly when I wear one. Or just really, really bad.

“Anyhow, I better get going. Bye,” Fern said and walked off. She was probably worried I was going to pass out in the middle of her My Kid Is The Best story.

Finally. Silence. Well, except for my breath coming out in loud puffs.

It took me awhile, but I finally did it.

See, this was the before picture:



And the after:



I rewarded myself with a Twinkie and a hot chocolate.

And a vow to try and avoid Fern.