Brrrrr!

Whoever said that global warming is an impending threat on humanity can go stand out in my frozen driveway and turn into a permanent icicle.

I'm currently fighting off the cabin fever of two back-to-back snow days. Or should I say "ice days" as in at least an inch of powdery frozen death covering every surface. And hooray- we get another Ice Day tomorrow.

So the week went:

Monday- no sub call. I stay home.

Tuesday through Thursday- Ice Days

Friday- maybe work?

Oh bother. Snow days are only fun if you can still do everything you want, like a bonus Saturday in the middle of the week.

However.

These Ice Days have not been bonus Saturdays. We have had joys such as:

- power outages (resulting in the satellite having to reset itself every 20 minutes which means *gasp* nothing records)

- I don't know if this is a normal side effect of power surges/outages but the smoke detectors beep in very loud protest which in turn causes Chester to freak out. Seriously, I don't think Chester stopped pacing and whining for a good hour.

- the roads are frozen, encased under a layer of hardcore ice. Usually on snow days the snows gone by noon-ish and you can go shopping or over to people's houses. No. We are stuck.

- we have intense winds during the night, which shoved the huge new grill off the patio.

Funny thing about the grill. My Mom and I discovered it laying on it's side like a wounded animal. Our patio is elevated about two and a half feet at the point where the grill made it's fall. Luckily it was resting against a sturdy tree right next to the patio, but the gas line connecting the grill to the house seemed stretched rather taut.

I don't know what happens when a gas line gets ripped out, but I don't want to find out. So my mother (fresh out of the shower and in my dad's workboots and sweats) and me (in a hoodie and Ugg slippers) have to get this grill back on the patio.

This grill is not small. It's a big hulking silver beast designed to flame meat into tasty submission. And the beast is not going anywhere easily. It takes Mom standing behind it and me tugging at the top and using the edge of the patio as a fulcrum (how smart are we!?) to tilt the grill back relatively into place without blowing up.

It wasn't until we went back inside that we discovered the funniest fact about our little adventure. Mom's wet hair was no longer wet; it was frozen. Literally, I'm not exaggerating, her tendrils of hair were now brunette icicles.

All in all I can say with total honesty: I'd rather be teaching little gangsters than hauling frozen outdoor cooking equipment around.