Those Easterners, they're so darn clever with their snowstorm names. "Snowmeggedon." Heh. That's pretty funny. We called ours "Winter Storm Doug." That's just so white bread-boring in contrast.
Monday night Mr. D called from the condo in Phoenix, AZ where he's enjoying a golf vacation with his buddies. I warned him that he'd probably see a flight delay Tuesday night when he was due to return home. "We're going to get 6-9 inches here, they'll get more south of us." He was flying to Milwaukee and driving home from there. "I bet they'll shut down the airport--I'd plan on spending another night in Arizona."
"We've been watching the weather here, it doesn't look like you're going to get that much snow," he argued. (Because the forecasters in Arizona will be more accurate about Wisconsin weather than the Wisconsin forecasters, right?)
"I'm telling you, every local station is warning us about the weather--at least know it's a possibility that you'll get delayed and pack your toothbrush in your carry on bag." Sheesh, listen to your wise wife, willya?
By 3:00 yesterday he was calling to tell me that his flight was canceled. I told you so. Chicago was shut down all day, Milwaukee was shut down, every other airport on the east coast is closed, the ripple effect means he won't get on a plane until tonight. "Enjoy a nice dinner, get tee times for tomorrow and enjoy another day of vacation," I told him. I'm a supportive wife while stranded in my house because the drifts in our driveway made leaving impossible. Another wife who'd spent the last 5 days with 3 kids and the flu was on the phone with a ticket agent trying frantically to book them on an earlier flight. "Don't bother," I told Mr. D. "You'll end up spending an entire day in an airport with crabby people getting bumped and put on stand by--it's not worth it. Just come home late tomorrow night. Sure, I'll call and cancel the poker party you had planned with your buddies here in town for Wednesday night." Wife of the Year, right?
And then at 7:45 this morning he calls to chit-chat. At 7:45 when I'm helping Mr. T finish his homework, stuff Mr. B's snowpants and lunch bag into his backpack, shove everyone off to school by 8:00, the most crazy point of the day around here Mr. D calls. Cereal bowls are sloshing milk on the table, Mr. G is begging to play Star Wars Lego on the Wii, I'm tugging on my snow boots and the cat wants to be let out. At first I let the phone ring, because I just knew it was him, and he was not going to call at 7:45 because he knows that's when we're leaving for school. But we have no Caller ID, so in a moment of doubt, I picked up the receiver. After all, it could be an emergency.
"Hey!" Mr. D's voice comes booming all friendly-like into my ear.
"What? Isn't school canceled?"
Reader, I will not write here what I said to him because it would earn this blog an "R" rating. My good sportsmanship flew right out the window and I let him know it. I hung up and took the boys to school. I came home, tidied up the kitchen, set up Mr. G on the Wii and tried to call him back. Fifteen minutes after he tried calling me. He's not answering his phone.
I'm sure it's because he's golfing and not because he's pouting.