So the weather people are saying we’re already nearing 30 inches of total snowfall for the winter …

Ugh. … And it’s not even Christmas yet.

Still, I don’t feel like it’s phasing me as much this year as it has in past years. I’m pretty sure after the 17-inch dump two years ago and the 22-incher last winter I’ve been numbed down to accept that this is what I get for living where we do.

On Friday, we got 14 inches. I was scheduled to stay home with Phoebe anyway, but Kates’s school shut down, too.

It wouldn’t have been so bad if the snowblower we inherited had worked better. That’s right, we now have a snowblower … Kates’ dad pulled it out of the family barn and had it fixed up for us, but let’s face it -- it’s no Cadillac. It’s a small, older model -- and worst of all, it’s one of those where you have to mix the gas. Ugh.

When I got outside to clean up the snow, the snowplow had left a mess at the end of driveway that rose to my hips. Then, I couldn’t get the snowblower started -- of course. I ended up shoveling barely half our property before my back gave out.

Then, we got more snow overnight, and Sunday was frightfully cold. While I stayed home with Phoebe, Kates dared go to church. She told me later the temperature gauge in the car read 30 degrees when she started it in the garage; she watched it tick downward all the way to church and by the time she parked the car in the church parking lot, the gauge read: -2 degrees.

The cold temperatures continued today, and it’s not looking any better for the rest of the week.

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