It snowed today. A lot. So very much snow.

My first thought was to ignore it. We didn’t have anywhere in particular to go.  Plenty of bread, and milk, and eggs. Everything critical to blizzard survival was already in stock. Snow melts, I figured.  Surely I could just wait it out.

But then I looked at the forecast and it is not expected to top 40 degrees within the next week. And despite the probable inaccuracy of my calculations – an enormous sh*tpile of snow probably won’t melt by tomorrow if it doesn’t go over about 75.  I could be wrong, but it seemed like there was no way to get out of shoveling.

All. That. Snow.

Now many of you are going to jump in here and tell me that I should make my kids do it. Just like I should make them vacuum and do my laundry and wash my dishes and rub my feet and make me dinner. I’m going to let you in on a little secret, I don’t make them do stuff like that.

I know. I should.  They will be useless adults with dirty clothes and an inability to function in society without the guidance of their mother. Yet, deep inside I don’t think they will be. Plus, there are enough things I have to fight with them about – doing homework, and never ever ever texting while driving, and eating vegetables. I don’t have it in me to fight for their independence just yet.

Plus, it is my deep-seated belief that every time I go all girl power outside in the view of my neighbors, I am saving marriages.

Think about this. When I am out there, wearing my adorable koala bear hat and flexing my insubstantial muscles to clear a cubic ton of snow, are the ladies in the neighborhood wishing they were me? HELL NO THEY ARE NOT. They see me out there, hurling impressive volumes of snow far into the air and what they think to themselves is: “OMG Thank Goodness I have XXX, my sometimes massively disappointing husband who is currently outside in the cold freezing his ass off shoveling snow while I sit inside and drink hot chocolate. I LOVE THAT GUY and will never ever ever let him go.”

Some of the ladies come outside to help. And those ladies are even MORE thankful for the presence of their hubbies who are doing at least half of the work. Because they are doing their half, and let me tell you, it SUCKS and they are super glad that they aren’t me doing the whole damn thing.

I mean, I am proud of myself. And in my best 3-year-old “I do it myself” mentality I am happy to do it. (Happy = overstatement – I have increased confidence in my ability to do whatever needs doing – which makes me happy.)  But I am pretty sure that all of those shoveling husbands get an extra kiss and a beer for their efforts.

You are welcome, fellas.

I feel a similar effect when I haul my butt out there and put down all of the mulch. And spread the weed and feed. And geez – every time I step out of my house. I am like a massive walking public service announcement (not all that massive – more like massively impactful…I hope.)

There is little chance that any of the women around here are observing my independence with awe and admiration. Although I can’t help but think that as those guys watch me do the whole damn thing all by myself (they pretend they aren’t looking, but come on, they have to notice, right? It’s a REALLY cute koala bear hat) – they are likely to be thinking, “I could totally get out of this shit if I left.”

Sorry ladies.