Planning

We had ourselves a charming little storm over the weekend. Saturday? Rain. All day. Warm-ish temperatures that made the snowpack drop by two whole feet, which is the North Country’s way of teasing us: “Look, ground! Psych!”

Now, anyone with half a brain and a weather app could’ve looked at Sunday’s forecast—which screamed “IMMINENT BLIZZARD!”—and thought, “Hey, maybe we should fill the tractor and the extra can of diesel while we still know where they are and don’t need an avalanche rescue team to retrieve them.”

But no. That would’ve been smart. Efficient. Predictable. And let’s be honest, nobody wants to read a blog post about that kind of nonsense:

“Saturday – weather mild. Diesel topped off. Tractor prepped. Storm handled smoothly. The end.”

Wow. Riveting. Coming soon to a sleep aid aisle near you.

Instead, here’s what actually went down:

Saturday:
DH (Dear Husband) and GS (grandson) spent the day not preparing. They busied themselves with "various things"—a suspiciously vague category that usually involves moving stuff from one place to another and then standing around admiring it. DH then retired for his afternoon nap (because, obviously, nothing screams ‘crisis readiness’ like a solid snooze). That evening, DH and GS ran the taxi service, shuttling GS to work and back, and then DH and I watched a movie. Possibly something in the “man fails to plan, wife quietly simmers” genre.

Sunday:
GS and DH went to church. I stayed home, valiantly protecting the congregation from the tail-end of my flu (and myself from real clothing). More snow. All. Day. Long. It snowed like a snow globe in the hands of a toddler with a sugar high. We watched it pile up while watching another movie, which felt less like relaxation and more like a poorly lit scene in a disaster film where the audience is yelling, “FUEL THE TRACTOR, YOU FOOLS!”

Monday: Welcome to Dumb Decision Consequences, Population: Us

GS starts plowing the driveway. Yay! Two bars of fuel. Not yay. Tractor is gasping like a smoker climbing stairs. DH is sent on a quest for the gas can—somewhere under a snow drift now large enough to be zoned for housing.

GS clears just enough for DH to get the truck out. He goes to town for diesel while GS keeps plowing, stopping at one bar because DH has repeatedly said, “Don’t you ever let that tractor run outta gas or I’ll… insert vague, dad-level threat here.” So GS comes inside, because, you know, instructions were followed.

DH returns, sees the tractor parked, and immediately transforms into a storm of his own. I calmly (and by calmly, I mean in that very specific wife-tone that sounds polite but could curdle milk) remind him that he was the one who didn’t want the tractor to run dry and GS was doing what he was told.

Cue the stomp. DH heads outside, flings diesel into the tractor with the flair of a man betrayed by his own logic, and proceeds to plow like a man trying to burn off 47 years of accumulated marital friction.

GS, feeling underappreciated, goes to his room and drowns his teenage angst on the drum set. Loudly. Repeatedly. Possibly in Morse code. I make lunch while both soundtracks rage—metal-on-metal from outside and metal-on-cymbals from upstairs. Somewhere in the distance, snow continues falling like a heavenly middle finger.

Tuesday Morning (A.K.A. Snowverload: The Sequel):

We wake to yet another 6 inches of snow, because winter apparently has feelings and we hurt them.

Before heading to work, DH refills the diesel can again. I’d love to say this was evidence of personal growth or a newfound respect for preparedness—but let’s be real. He needed to take the truck this week. I was left with his car, and nothing motivates a man like the mental image of diesel sloshing around in a gas can on the nice carpet of his sedan's trunk.

Moral of the Story: Always fuel the tractor before the storm. Or don’t. Just make sure the diesel can never rides in the good car. And maybe install soundproofing around the drum kit.

Please leave a comment below. I love hearing from you.