So our driveway is long enough that hopeful bobsled Olympians call us on a day-to-day basis to schedule practice times during the winter months. Apparently the length and slope of our concrete pathway, combined with Treacherous Winter Ice, all swirl together like a brewing Perfect Storm to create the Talladega of bobsled tracks. With a hot cocoa stand set up in the cul de sac, Hubs and I have a thriving winter money maker.
Hubs and I have become very familiar with the pitch and the cracks and the nuances of this driveway of ours, because we have shoveled it as often as a new mother pats some baby powder onto her papoose’s bum. Last winter, the snow came every single time the Colorado Avalanche played, because I may have mentioned once or three hundred times here at Jedi Mama, Inc. that the Avs play NIGHTLY.
Or so it seems.
And last winter? Well, it seems we’d throw back the curtains every weekday morning to six inches of wet, sloppy, perfect-for-the-snowman-building-competition snow. This was always a wonderful thing to have happen, especially because the Jedi Family is absolutely famous for throwing the curtains back ten minutes before they’re scheduled to load into the Suburban and leave the manor, and then! Well, a mad scramble for gloves and shovels and those little more-than-likely-toxic packages, that you snap to create REAL HEAT in your snowboots for your feet, ensues.
On a good morning, Hubs can muscle his way through six inches of driveway snow in less than thirty minutes. On a good morning when I am left to do the shoveling alone (And let’s face it: That’s never a good morning!), I need seven minions and three days to accomplish the same task. And every single time that it snowed (Daily! Daily! Daily!) last winter, Hubs and I would watch our neighbors on both sides of us fire up their snowblowers and go to town on their driveways. Snow would fly, their driveways would be cleared in record time, and the back muscles would be spared so that the minions could be asked to do other household chores.
And every morning that we’d watch these snowblowers in action (Daily! Daily! Daily!), I would whisper to Hubs, “I think we should buy one!” And then Hubs would whisper to me, “We’re too young! We have strong backs! We can shovel! Snowblowers are for nursing homes.” Of course this is also because Hubs is completely allergic to spending great sums of money on something that doesn’t have a motherboard or a picture of an apple on the front of it. If something happens to me, y’all will have to promise that you’ll grab Hubs’ wallet away from him and pry the squeaky thing open, so that someone can buy the boy new school clothes next year.
So fast forward to this fall.
I have been dreading the onset of our daily dose of snow, because the snow shovel has sat in the corner of the garage all summer, silently mocking me. And that’s when I dreamed up an ingenious idea for Hubs’ birthday.
Oh, people! THAT BEAST is now sitting in our garage, right beside the snow shovel, and it’s growling out, “Listen, Shovel! You’re dead to all of us! You’re like the Commodore 64, because we’ll be seeing you at a garage sale next spring, and garage salers will sigh and say ‘LOOK! A VINTAGE SHOVEL.'”
I really love when the Sno-Tek Beast talks like that to the snow shovel.
And let’s just get real here for a couple of minutes.
I think we have single-handedly guaranteed that it will never snow in Small Town, USA again. Ever. Not at all. I’d like to go on the record early and apologize for the up-coming drought this summer which will probably put watering restrictions on y’all.
Happy Monday night.