I love the snow. It makes me giddy with excitement to watch it come down and slowly add up to lots of white fluffiness. I love the way everything is quiet. How if you listen carefully, you can hear the giggles and squeels of kids three blocks over trying to sled down their wee little front yards. How the neighbors come out en masse to shovel, bundled up in odd assortments of hats, scarves, mittens, flannel pants. I love when the snow wasn't predicted - when the weatherman said we'd have a wintery mix which means sleet/rain/ice/sludge - but instead we're getting a steady downpour of white stuff. At least 5 inches last I was out and it's not letting up. I love the way the trees bow over, heavy with snow, and the giggles of my daughter when we whack the branches and watch them spring upwards as their heavy burden is lifted.
However, despite all this warm fuzziness, I do not like the fact that we all have colds, how Jim's is going on 2+ weeks which means he feels he has a right to be uber cranky and mope and play on itunes all day while I, with a fever and writing to catch up on (that I'm getting PAID for), am left to take care of Natalie, who is cranky from some combination of not feeling well and possibly getting some more teeth. Not to mention the fact that this snow wasn't predicted so the roads are terrible and we might have to nix our oscar night take-out plans. Bummer. I was really looking forward to the Zagat's rated chicken, fries, and slaw from the local Peruvian hole-in-the-wall place.