Was also the day our car became solidly and horrifically stuck on the ice bank at our house.
There is no driveway in the Heber home. (Horses didn't need driveways. Horses wouldn't have gotten stuck in the ice. Pioneers were so clever.) Instead there's a very wide road and dirt patch on the side of the road that extends about five feet before turning into *lawn. This is where we usually park, backing in to the dirt patch on a slight slant. Normally this wouldn't be a problem. However, in the winter months it becomes a problem.
Years ago someone on our street must have offended the snowplow driver by insulting his mother, dishonoring his sister, leaching his Netflix without permission or something equally deplorable because snowplows do not come on our street. If I could see a map of Heber routes in the snowplow office I'm certain I would see a first an x, then a scribble, then blacked out area where our street is supposed to be, possibly with the label "DO NOT PLOW IN THIS LAND OF EVIL DWELLERS." Consequently, this dirt-turned-driveway becomes a nightmarish pile of shoveled and tramped down snow.
In the past, we've been careful to park with part of the front wheels remaining on the road. Somehow, SOMEHOW (I'm not going to place blame here) someone neglected to do this on Tuesday night. Wednesday morning we walked out innocently and naively believing we'd simply get in our car and drive to school. Au contraire.
I got in the car. Riley got in the car. The gas pedal was pushed. The wheels spun. Eyes were rolled.
However, this had happened once or twice (or three times) before so I resignedly got out of the car, ready to push. I expected after 3 or 4 tries, 9 or 10 minutes, the car would start rolling again, as it always had. This was not the case. So Riley got out of the car, I got in, and we tried again. And again. Every attempt met the same fruitless outcome. But we kept trying! Because, determination! I am capable and independent!
Yeah right. That capability and independence lasted about 30 minutes. By then, all we'd managed to accomplish was to roll the car further back down the slope and closer to a 4 foot snowbank. I decided that we needed help and went through the list of approximately 3 families that we know that I'd be comfortable enough calling for a tow at 8:00 am. At this point I was spitting mad and because my emotions make sense, near the brink of hysterical sobbing. Making phone calls in that state is not ideal. But I managed to sound like I wasn't having a mental breakdown and found someone possessing a truck who hadn't left for work yet.
Long story short, after a few pulls, the car was back on the street, and all was well. Late, yes. Wrenched backs and frozen hands, yes. But you know, hashtagblessed.
*It's not lawn. It's the long patchy grass cover that survives years of excessive shade and of neglect.
Also, hi. I started blogging again. I went on a mission, came back, started school again, got married, moved and a whole bunch of other things. I'll spare you the painful catch-up. Pardon my 3 year absence.