I want to be home. On my comfy couch. Drinking a cafè con leche and web surfing.
Instead, I’m sitting in a motel lobby somewhere in Massachusetts, drinking piss water that came out of the coffee pot, and inhaling fumes from the vinegar they just used to wash the floor.
The plan for the weekend: road trip, pick up Man Child, see Nerd Child perform in a school production of Comedy of Errors, go home. It all went well until the going home part.
I want to say first in all seriousness, Husband is the best driver I’ve ever known. I’ve driven with him in all kinds of conditions, he’s always in control, never gets nervous behind the wheel. Never say never. After 8000 years of being together, I’ve now seen him nervous. Last night the snow was coming down so hard, straight at the windshield, no lights on the road, no plows, no salt trucks. After leaving Nerd Child’s school, we drove for over two hours. It went from well, this is annoying to breath holding, to oh shit this is downright disorienting very quickly. Got about 40 miles.
C’mon, New England, would it kill you to tell a few of the plows we saw driving to actually, yanno, put the shovel part down and plow?
So yes indeed, we had to find a place to crash. I’m thankful we were able to without any hassles once we were able to get off the highway. I am sitting with Man Child beside me, which is lovely. Nerd Child was fabulous onstage. And Flower Child is going to be very happy when she wakes up and sees it’s only snowing lightly now. It was scaaaary last night.
I spoke to Fatigue about an hour ago. He told me the snow has turned to rain in the city. I’m wondering if the motel has a shovel we can borrow to dig our car out. And where the nearest Starbucks is. Trust me, if you were drinking the swill I’m drinking right now you’d be crying for a Starbucks too.