It snowed last night, a lot more than most people in public education would want for a Saturday night. The result: a snowed-in Sunday.
Typically, I might not mind it, but we're on a mission today: to climb the steep incline of the foothills of the Poconos in a futile attempt to find the perfect 9-foot Fraser fir, which we will then kill with the sharp edge of an axe and decorate in triumph with lights. Richard The Cat will proclaim it his monthlong home, while Eddie The Yorkie will attempt to lift his six-ounce leg upon its lower branches.
But the hurdle remains: the snow. Somehow I fear that getting the two elves up the mountain will bring upon me some tremendous anxiety. Let's guess which will be the most popular whine:
A. My feet are wet/cold.
B. My hands are wet/cold.
C. I'm tired. Pick me up.
D. All of the above.
So right now, now that I've downed three cups of coffee to calm my jitters, I'm organizing all rubber-based clothing with the hope that I don't end the day with three cups of wine.
Otherwise, it will be long day for Santa's little helpers, let alone Mrs. Claus.