After the insanity of last winter, our next-door neighbor and fellow long-ass driveway-haver had the sense to procure a snow thrower in time for this year. We did not, because we are cheapskates with the memories of goldfish...but then it didn't really snow at ALL so we were happy to have procrastinated on the expense.
Then boom! March mini-blizzard, because of course. Jason has back issues, though, so shoveling us out was going to be All Me. So imagine my delight when I looked outside and saw that our neighbor, SUPER STOKED to finally break out that bad boy, had already cleared our driveway for us. (The bottoms of our driveways are shared, but he went above and beyond and came almost all the way up to our garage.) I opened the door to yell our thanks; he just shrugged and waved, then spun around with a gleeful look on his face as he went up the sidewalk to go help another house of people who were miserably dealing with the heavy, slushy, icy snow the old-fashioned way.
The suburbs! What a country.
I shoveled out the last few remaining feet and it damn near killed me -- every shovelful felt like it weighed 50 pounds. I halfheartedly tossed some ice melting pellets at our front steps, came inside and announced that all comings and goings would take place through the garage for the foreseeable future, because I was not dealing with anymore of that crap.
Okay I've got nothing else. Photo time!
Ike has set up a desk in the kitchen so he can "get some work done" while I make dinner. Here he is transcribing a recipe card. Looks like we're gonna need more sweet potatoes. (I was NOT KIDDING about these kids and the sweet potatoes.)
Just their usual after-dinner hamming, which then veered into a thoughtful message from a young feminist:
Oh, Zah. Please never, ever change.
(Spotted on his classroom's bulletin board: I wud do any think for Ginny.)
Though to be honest, every boy in this house is welcome to stay as sweet and awesome as he is right now.