Battling the Elements

So far, the Minch family has experienced life in 2010 facing fire, flood, and famine.

Did I mention that I caught on fire in January? Yeah, that was a tremendously scary and surreal moment. It's sort of amusing now, but for a minute there, I must admit I was worried.

It was a Sunday morning, around 11:30. Ed was off running errands and Cameron was still sleeping. I had done some walking on the treadmill, jumped in the shower, and when I was finished, headed downstairs to put some water on for tea. I trotted down the stairs in my favorite terry cloth bath robe, which I have had for many years. It's my go-to robe upon getting out of the shower, drying my hair, styling my hair, and putting on perfume before I dress.

I turned on the gas stove to heat the kettle, and if you have a gas stove, you know that upon lighting them, they always ignite with a "woosh." As I started to walk away from the stove, I noticed that my right sleeve had caught fire. It happened so fast, and to top it off, I wasn't even sure how it happened.

If you've never been on fire, let me tell you, your first reaction really is not to "stop, drop, and roll." Your first reaction is to start flailing the body part as if you're trying to disconnect it from your body. As I flapped my sleeve in the air (which was only feeding the fire), I quickly realized that I needed to stop doing that and smother the sleeve from oxygen. So, like an idiot, I patted the sleeve against my body, because at this point, the fire was manageable. However, as I did this, other parts of the robe also began to ignite, and spread like wildfire. Why it never occurred to me to stick my arm under the sink, I"ll never know. Eventually, I grabbed the kitchen towel and patted myself down. I did think about ripping the robe off my totally naked body and stomping the crap out of it, but being the practical mother I am, I actually thought about which would be more traumatic for Cameron to see. His mother totally in flames, or his mother totally naked. I assumed it would only be a matter of time before he came rushing down into the kitchen to see what all the commotion was about, because I was certainly uttering the phrase "Omigod, omigod, OH MY GOD!" over and over and over.

Fortunately for me, the fire dissipated as quickly as it had started. As I stood there in the kitchen, I looked around at the burnt debris that had fallen on the floor and the smoke rising up to the ceiling. I quickly opened up the doorwall for fresh air to circulate, turned on a fan or two so the smoke alarms wouldn't go off and wake up Cameron (who was still sleeping!), and then headed upstairs to put on a different robe.

As I regained my composure and started to relive the events in my head, I began to examine the robe. There was a definite brown tinge to the surface of the faded black terry cloth. To my surprise, however, not only was it on the sleeve and front of the robe, but it was also on the back! This could only make me think that the back of the robe was on fire as well. As I mentioned, it all happened so fast, which made me think something had to have accelerated the ignition. Then, it dawned on me. My robe was probably covered in remnants of hair spray and perfume, which I always spray on my wrist. I was basically a human Molotov cocktail. When the gas stove was lit, it sprayed out and, as I brushed my sleeve past the stove, that's when it caught fire. Once the chemicals from these items were burned off, the fire went out. Lesson learned. From now on, I am very careful not to have dangling sleeves on when I light my gas stove. They get pulled all the way up to my shoulder. I kid you not.

A few weeks after the fire, we experienced a leaky ice maker/water dispenser valve on the refrigerator in the kitchen. Unfortunately, it wasn't brought to our attention by water pooling on the kitchen floor from under the fridge. For goodness sakes, that would be too easy. We discovered it when I headed down into the basement on a Monday morning to get on the treadmill. As I approached the bottom of the stairs, I heard a strange noise, which I couldn't quite put my finger on. Turns out, the strange noise was water dripping from multiple soaking wet ceiling tiles. When I realized what I was seeing, you can only imagine the look on my face, the words that came out of my mouth, and the speed in which I flew up the stairs screaming Ed's name. Thank God he had not left for work yet.

At first, we didn't know what the hell was happening or where it was coming from. We did have the presence of mind to turn off the electricity in the basement, however, since overhead lights were drenched in water. After running around frantically, checking sinks, and vents, and closed off rooms, we realized that right above that spot was the refrigerator. Sure enough, ran upstairs to pull it away from the wall, and "voila!" The water was leaking inside the fridge, filled up the bottom pan, and then proceed to spill onto the floor but traveled right down the cracks of where the hard wood floor meets the wall. Thus, pooling under the hardwood floor, soaking into the subfloor and then dripping down into the ceiling tiles below. We don't think it had been happening for too long, since Cameron had just been downstairs the night before to empty the garbage.

As we surveyed the damage we realized that it could have been a lot worse. Just a few ceiling tiles. For whatever reason, I had an eerie calm in my demeanor. I reminded myself that I have some friends who are currently going through way worse traumas in life, than this. The loss of a spouse, the painful goodbye to an ill parent, the loss of a job, etc. This little disaster was just a part of life.

So, with our "chin up" attitude, we set about cleaning up the mess. After a couple of days, we began to realize that the worst of the situation was how it was affecting the hardwood floor boards in the kitchen. They began to "cup." The center of the boards were concave while outer edges raised up. This created an uneven surface. After doing some online research, we were encouraged when it said that many times this is a temporary condition of the flooring until all the moisture is removed from the wood. It also offered some suggestions on how to expedite the process.

One suggestion was to turn up your thermostat to 80 degrees, while turning off your humidifier for a period of time. When Ed approached me about whether I would be willing to give it a try, I had mixed emotions. My first thought was how all my cost cutting electric and gas saving measures I applied to the household in January and February were going to go right out the window by jacking up the thermostat to 80 degrees. Then, I was secretly giddy when I realized that I would not have to walk around the house wearing multiple layers of clothing with blankets on top of me while watching T.V. The biggest concern, however, was weather or not I could really stomach being in such a warm house. We keep our thermostat at 68 degrees during the day and dial it down to 60 at night. In the spirit of saving repair work having to be done to the floor, I decided that I could handle it for two or three days. And so it began.

Of course, we were not allowed to turn up the thermostat until Ed was showered, dressed, and out of the house on his way to work. With overactive sweat glands, he would have been a mess. Unfortunately, for me, I really had nothing that had to be accomplished outside of the home, thus, leaving me here to withstand the heat.

At first, it wasn't so bad. If I had short sleeves on and wasn't moving around too much, I was good. However, when I needed to get on the treadmill downstairs, that was a different story. I walked while wearing my iPod and at some point I noticed that the Jordan Sparks/Chris Brown song "No Air" was playing. They sang about not being able to breathe, which started to make me feel like I couldn't breathe. Eventually, I had to open a window to let some fresh air in while I finished my exercise. When I walked up the stairs and opened the door, I was hit with a wall of "heat." It was also quite noticeable whenever I entered the house from outside. When Cameron and Ed came home for the day, they both changed into shorts. That night we dialed down to 60, but I don't think the thermostat ever broke 73 during the night. Ceiling fans were being used to the max.

The next day, things started to change. I found that my use of Vaseline Intensive Lip Therapy increased about 200%. I began to receive enormous shock of electricity when I went to turn on a light. Frankly, I was amazed that my lips did not spontaneously combust due to all the petroleum jelly they were coated in. When Stanley saw me approach to pet his fur, he turned and ran the other way. Later in the day, I noticed that my contacts felt glued to my eyes. Then, as I was standing there drying my hair, my nose started to drip blood. It took me by surprise, and I began to feel like I had been exposed to some toxic chemicals, like Jack Bauer in 24. I also began to worry about Stanley and whether or not he would be okay. Although he seemed to be relishing in the heat, I made sure to put down some additional bowls of water around the house to ensure he drank plenty of liquids. I even let him drink out of my water cup (yes, I got a new one out for me). I started to feel dehydrated and needed to get out of the house.

While I was out and about, Ed called to see how it was going. He asked me "Is it hot in there?" To which I replied "Duh! Does a bear shit in the woods? Of course it's hot in there. It's like Arizona in there! I could be drying my own fruit slices on the counter tops for homemade trail mix if I wanted to."

By the third day, I could take it no more. We continued to leave the humidifier off for a couple of weeks, while blowing a fan directly up into the subfloor from underneath. We have since had to turn the humidifier back on due to serious dry skin patches forming on my face and sinus problems for all.

I am happy to report that the flooring has improved greatly. Whether it will ever return to its normal state, remains to be seen. However, at least the damage has been lessened. Also, our current DTE bill was $70 less than the previous month, in spite of the increased temperatures and round-the-clock fan blowing.

On the famine side, Cameron is thrilled that I'm over my empty-the-pantry-fridge-and-freezer kick. I resumed grocery shopping in mid-February and my SweeTart jelly beans have been available in stores for a couple of weeks now. With all the stress I've been under, I've been popping them like pills.

My biggest concern now is whether or not it's safe to leave my home for a trip to Florida. We've had so many freak occurrences here of biblical proportions, I'm afraid I'll come home to find a house full of locusts.

Happy 16th Birthday Cameron!

Today’s posting requires two photos. The first photo was taken of Cameron and our friends’ dog, Roxanne, in 1997 when Cameron was three and Roxanne was their newly acquired puppy. The second photo was taken 12 years later at the end of last summer. Look at how much they have grown and changed. Poor Rox, she’s about 84 in dog years, and her sweet brown face has gone white with age. Unfortunately, for Roxanne, she got off to a rough start when one of her owners (Mike Meyer!) accidentally ran over her while backing out of the driveway. Luckily, as you can see, she survived the incident.

Fortunately, for Cam, he got off to a much better start. We only allowed him to lick chlorine tablets and swing a golf club in the house, which caused shattered glass from a broken picture frame to fall down and slice his toe open (requiring stitches). Not bad, really, considering that Cameron has always been our little “envelope pusher” and dare devil.

At four he was riding a two-wheeler. At five he was playing organized roller hockey, and at seven he mastered down hill skiing, without the use of poles, because who needs poles when your center of gravity is only two and a half feet off the ground? At nine he gave surfing a go when we went to Hawaii on a family vacation. That’s probably why he switched to snowboarding. At 10, he took up the violin and is still going strong in the high school orchestra, after having completed three years at the middle school level. At 15 he started playing organized football for the first time ever in his life. What he lacked in physical stature, he more than made up for with hard work, determination, and commitment.

While I’m watching him play the violin in concert with those long, lean fingers, I think to myself “Who is this boy that can read music and play so beautifully, but can’t clean his room or remember to put the toilet seat down? How does that work?”

Oh Cameron, you are a funny, funny boy. You’ve got a wicked sense of humor, however some times it gets you into trouble. Remember when you hid behind dad’s easy chair and scared the bejesus out of him. He was so mad. But, we got more of a laugh out of him trying to be mad than scared. Dad doesn’t do mad nearly as well as mom, right? Remember when you put baloney in my CD drawer and I started to smell something funny and wondered what it was? Remember when Alex was trying to be a hard-ass by smashing the bedroom door up against the wall (and you just happened to be in between the two) and you accidentally popped him in the nose? That was funny, mainly because you thought you were going to be in trouble, and instead we yelled at Alex for being a bully. Remember when you told our new neighbors that you had a baby brother that lived in the basement? Remember in fifth grade when out of the blue you said you were running for student council president and I thought "sure you are" and then you won! Shame on me. Remember when I made that bet with you last week that Bode Miller would win the gold and unbeknownst to you, the race had happened hours earlier and the results were already reported? Shame on you! That was a good one, until dad told Alex to text you that it was a set up.

I can’t believe you are already 16 years old. So grown up, and so....not. The time has absolutely flown by and yet it seems like an eternity since you were born. I'm thrilled that you have matured into a wonderful young man, and yet not ready for my baby to be a young man, mainly because that makes me an old woman. Don't forget, Cameron, everything I expect from you is because I love you. If I didn't think you could do it, I wouldn't expect it. Continue to strive for excellence and don't settle for average. Keep working hard at school and sports like you have been doing this year, and don't look for the easy way out. This doesn't mean life has to be difficult, just challenging, so at the end of the day you can feel proud about what you have accomplished. Today, you should feel proud. I know I do. Now go clean your room!

Olympic Inspirations

Nothing like the Olympics to make you feel like an underachieving, overeating, couch potato slug. I continue to be astounded at what some of these athletes can do with their bodies, at high rates of speed and, in some cases, altitude.

First off, the mogul skiers. Last week we watched in awe as men and women were just ripping down a steep mountain hitting gigantic moguls one after the other. Along the way, they paused enough to ski off a ramp (twice), to leap into the air and perform some ridiculous somersault. They would hit the ground running and continue down some more moguls. It was outrageous how fast they traveled down the hill, all the while keeping their heads level while their knees bounced up and down faster than you can say “arthroscopic surgery.” I was so sore from just watching that event, I had to take some sympathy Tylenol and break the heating pad back out. Seriously, how do these people have any hip and knee joints left?

Next up was speed skating. My dear, sweet Apolo Anton Ohno. He is so adorable, I just want to scoop him up and put him in my pocket for luck. Watching him skate makes me so nervous, though. The velocity at which these short track skaters travel around that teeny tiny oval ice rink is crazy. The racers start off all spread out, and Apollo likes to hang back in the beginning so he can check out the competition. Then, with only a few laps to go, he makes his move. Zipping, scooting, and cutting people off like a New York taxi driver. I start screaming at the TV set “he’s not gonna make it, he’s not gonna make it!”, because he’s all the way in the back with so little time left in the race, and then boom! Next thing I know, he’s in front and I’m thinking “how’d he do that?”

Moving on to lugers, I have come to the conclusion that they are not even of this earth. Can you imagine someone explaining to you how this sport actually works? Ok...first you need to put on this skin tight unflattering outfit which might protect you from serious ice-burn, however, we can’t guarantee that. Besides, your skin getting ripped off your body will be the least of your worries. Next you sit on this flimsy-ass sled, and try to push yourself as hard as you can down the track. As you begin your journey to hell, you’ll want to lay down on your sled (which, by the way, only has room to support your back) and put your legs on either side of the runners for support and steering capability (as if there’s a snowball’s chance in hell you’ll actually be able to control anything). Since there is no support for your head, you’ll need to keep it at a 17-1/2 degree tilt so you can see what you're going to crash into. Because the track is made out pure ice, you may find yourself travelling at speeds upwards of 80 to 90 miles per hour, so for sure you'll want to wear a helmet.

A couple of weeks ago, leading up to the Olympics, I caught part of the women’s figure skating competition that would determine who was going to be on the United States’ team. I distinctly remember sitting in my comfy, cozy bed seeing skater after skater do incredible things with their bodies that made my toes cramp. One incredible move I witnessed time after time was them twirling (very, very fast, I might add) on one foot all while grabbing the blade of their other skate (behind their back, I might add) and then they pulled their leg up and back until their hands were held high over their heads....spinning faster....balancing on one leg...perfectly balanced. Did I mention they did this on one leg, with the other leg pulled up behind them over their head? I mean, it’s one thing to be balanced on one leg with your other leg in front of you (like when you're shaving your legs), but behind you? That totally makes you want to lean forward. But they were upright, straight as an arrow. As I watched this move unfold, I remember thinking “what is she doing?....where is she going to put that leg?....oh, no she didn’t!.... get out!” The crowd rewarded them each time with a thundering roar of applause and cheers. At some point, I began to feel so incredibly motivated and inspired, I found the energy to jump up with enthusiasm and headed all the way downstairs into the kitchen to make some popcorn. Normally, I would ask Ed to do it, while twirling my hair and looking so Perils-of-Pauline helpless-like, but I felt truly inspired to do it all on my own.

Over the weekend we watched downhill, slalom, Super G (which stands for Super Good) and combo racers. Since Ed and I are skiers....well, let me rephrase that....since Ed and I HAVE skied over the years (using our skis we bought for ourselves as Christmas gifts to each other in 1989, which are now considered obsolete antiques), and have been to the giant slopes of Boyne Mountain (which, granted, is not quite as giant as Whistler in Vancouver, mind you), we do know a thing or two about skiing. And one thing we know for sure is that we could never even come close to doing what these people do. I said to him while watching one race "Could you imagine doing that?" to which he replied a pure and simple, yet emphatic, "No." There was absolutely no hesitation whatsoever in his response. We would most likely become the poster children for the "agony of defeat" video clip that would go viral on YouTube for all the world to see.

The physical strength and fortitude of these athletes is truly incredible. The adversities they have faced in the way of accidents and injuries, some of them life threatening, requires a special determination. The sacrifices they and their families have made over a lifetime, the hours of practice put in day after day, and the physical pain they endure for an opportunity to represent their country truly makes me want to "go for the gold" and walk an extra mile on the treadmill. However, let's not get all crazy. After all, there is no shame in getting a bronze medal, you know.

Finding Your Comfort Zone

Last October, Ed and I celebrated our 20th wedding anniversary. Who da thunk that the quiet chemist and the feisty Filipino who met on a blind date would last this long?

We were set up by his high school friends, Adam and Stacy. I guess they stopped by his house one night, having just got home from working the afternoon shift, and found him sitting on the couch in his underwear eating mac and cheese out of the pan. Immediately they thought...."hmmmmm, you need a life, or a distraction at the very least." So, they put their scheming heads together and Stacy, whom I worked with, thought of me. I’m sure she said something like “I work with a girl who is having a bad month. She recently spun out on a patch of ice and wrecked her car, had her wisdom teeth pulled out and while on her pain medication she freaked out at work, and just got dumped by a guy she was dating. She’s currently pissed off at the world and hates men, and since you're such a nice guy, you would be perfect for her!” And Ed, who loves a good challenge, said “uhhh...ok."

Having moved back from New York City a few months prior, let’s just stay I was still in cynical NYC mode. When you live and work in a city which is teeming with people from all over the world, you aren’t really afforded the opportunity to stop and make eye contact and form friendships with very many of them. You're constantly moving, running, and hustling to catch a train, bus, taxi, or just cross the street. You're basically in competition with lots of people every day to get where you're going as efficiently as possible. These types of daily goals don't allow for friendliness. “Sorry, no time to make eye contact.” Making eye contact might mean you'd have to say "hi" or strike up a conversation. Who has time for that? Besides, for all you know they just might be a Ted Bundy or Son of Sam wannabe, so you adjust your friendly mid western attitude, keep your eyes down low, and just keep moving.

When Stacy asked me in a sing-songy voice what I was doing on an upcoming Friday night, I suspiciously and bluntly asked “why”. When she said she wanted to fix me up with a guy she knew from high school, I immediately asked “what’s wrong with him?” After she some-what assured me that nothing was wrong with him, I stated that I would need to see a photo first. I just wanted to be sure he wasn’t a dorky doofus. What can I say? It’s no surprise that many of us are shallow in our mid-20‘s. Upon seeing the photo and asking a multitude of questions, I agreed. On date night, the first thing I did was check out his shoes and decided he was okay (I have unique standards). We had instant chemistry and felt so comfortable with each other right off the bat. Needless to say, the blind date went way better than I had anticipated

Twenty-three years later we are still together. Like any couple, we have experienced so many of the ups and downs of what life has to offer--my diagnosis of breast cancer at age 25, a year of chemotherapy, the birth of two healthy children, the painful loss of his parents, the aftermath of a tragic car accident involving a son, the loss of a job after 20 years of service, our firstborn’s high school graduation and transition to college, the health woes of my parents, and the all too sudden and too soon loss of good friends. We have been fortunate to have travelled the world together--London, Paris, Australia, Hawaii, California, Florida, and New York City.

Over the years we have laughed about how our lives and priorities have changed. In the beginning, a great Friday night meant heading out to the bar to hook up with friends. After you are married and have kids, a great Friday night could consist of your two-year old, that you are in process of toilet training, “poopin’ on the potty.” You are so ecstatic at the turn of events, you feel the need to call every relative and take a photo for the memory book. Thank goodness, for my friends and family, that Facebook didn’t exist back in the early 90’s when I had toddlers.

As the kids begin to get a little older--elementary and middle school--you reclaim some of your social life. This means you get to play euchre with your friends, have a couple of beers (and then some), stay up late, sleep in late, go on family outings where everyone can participate, like ski trips, Cedar Point, sporting events, and Florida vacations.

By the time the kids reach high school and college age, your energy level and priorities have changed again. You look forward to the end of the week and the nights you can just stay home. You're comfortable with not having to compete for attention, get dressed up, or do things you don't enjoy. Your time becomes more precious and you make wiser choices on how you want to spend it. You also begin to make choices based on function not fashion. At this stage in your life together, you have no problem going out in public being the king and queen of dorky doofuses. Forget that you didn't want to date one. Now you are one. Heading out to watch your kid play football for the third week in a row in the cold, rainy, and windy weather forces you to channel the puffy Michelin man look again and again and again. Your umpteen layers of long johns, a sweatshirt, ultra-warm winter jacket, ear-flapped ski hat located under several layers of hoods, and a rain poncho over the whole package that makes you look like a circus tent sitting in the bleachers is what finding your comfort zone is all about. And, when you run into someone who hasn't seen you in years, you might find yourself initially trying to explain how you don't normally look like this, but then you think better of it and say to yourself "screw it...who cares?"

That’s what being in your comfort zone does for you. It gives you peace of mind. You don’t care how you are perceived on the outside by others. As a couple, being honest and secure with yourself, as well as each other, is a wonderful feeling. Being able to laugh at each other and cry with each other is what finding your comfort zone is all about. Being consistent in your relationship and staying true to your core values while navigating through the good and the bad is what finding your comfort zone is all about.

I recognize, however, that perhaps I can become a little too comfortable and may need to "shake it up" every now and then. One day I picked up Cameron from the school and he asked me "why are you all dressed up". I look at myself (because I guess I forgot what I was wearing) and stated "I'm not dressed up, I'm just wearing stuff." He said "well you have on nice jeans, a jacket and real shoes." In my defense, I had on a black blazer that has been in my closet for years, jeans that I wear all the time, and some black boots. I guess he's used to seeing me in my scruffy Uggs and a ratty-ass sweater that I sometimes grab as I'm heading out the door for such casual occasions as picking my kid up from practice. I realize that finding my comfort zone doesn't mean I have to become complacent. For that reason alone, I'm thinking about shopping for a new poncho for next year. Perhaps one with vertical stripes that would make me look less puffy while sitting in the bleachers. Although, stripes might make me really look like a circus tent. Hmmmm....maybe stripes aren’t the answer. Maybe something in camouflage is more in line.

Oh Happy Day!

ALLELUIA, ALLELUIA, AAAAAAALELUUUUUUIAAAAAAA!!!!!

Today is a snow day....a bonus day....a freebie. An extra Saturday, thrown in after Tuesday. Well, for students and stay-at-home moms it is. Well, maybe I should clarify that...stay-at-home moms with kids over 14. For you moms with younger kids, it might mean more work than rest because those younger kids are higher maintenance. Sorry! After you have survived the terrible-twos, sassy-sevens, and tenacious-twelves then, and only then, will you be able to enjoy a true snow day. The true goal of a high schooler on a snow day is to fly as low under the radar as possible. Sleeping in....staying in their room....being quiet, and not looking or stating "I'm bored." Nothing strikes fear in a teenager more than the thought of their mother giving them something to do on a snow day....like help your dad shovel the snow, do some extra studying or homework, or clean your room.

We found out last night that school was cancelled via Cameron and the Facebook hotline. Of course, due to the source of the information (teenagers with a vested interest), this was going to require further confirmation (at least on my part). So, we logged on to the school website. Then we received an automated call from the school district. Then we saw it scroll across the bottom of the TV screen during the news. Aint technology grand? Ding.....bonus day confirmed.

Of course, then this raises the question of what is a better bonus? Finding out the night before and knowing in advance you don't have to set your alarm, or finding out the morning of and then crawling back under the cozy covers? Hmmmm.....that is a tough one. When I was in high school, we didn't know jack until you got up to your alarm, dialed the rotary phone, and then tried to get through the myriad of busy tones on the school hotline. Nowadays, kids know school is cancelled before the superintendent does. Works for me!

Fortunately, for little Eddie, he has a wonderful new boss that allows him to work out of the house on occasions such as this. That's the other wonderful part of technology (sometimes). Email, cell phones, conference calls, webcams, etc., all make it possible to do your work from home as opposed to physically spending hours making it into the office and then more hours making it back home. So, being the good little employee he is, he set his alarm and got up hours before the Camster and me. Then, after taking care of some business, the testosterone kicked in and he headed out to the garage to bond with his big-ass snowblower. He really hasn't had much opportunity to spend time with it this winter, so today was a special day. Of course, I had to follow him outside in my robe to witness this manly moment. Suffice it to say, he did not find it amusing when I asked him why he was wearing safety goggles. "Do you think you might get your eye poked out by some flying snowflakes?" At which point, he cranked it up so as to quickly drown out my voice. Being the good neighbor he is (and seizing the opportunity to spend more time with his toy), he continued to clear the neighbor's driveway, sidewalk and mailbox areas after taking care of ours. He has now showered, shave, and has real clothes on and is back at his computer working. Such dedication. I'd for sure be working in my pajamas.

I checked in with Alex, and although they experienced the same snow fall as us, classes go on as regularly scheduled. Snow days at college are very few and far between. I would think that when you are on a campus of only 1,200, they are practically nonexistent due to the superior snow removal skills of the maintenance crew that my tuition dollars pay for.

I plan to spend my snow day hopping on the treadmill and then perhaps catching up on some of my DVR'd shows. A couple of those include Oprah episodes that I taped to watch with Ed and the boys. Today might be a good day for that. One is on texting (and cell phoning in general) while driving and the other is on diabetes and how it is becoming a growing epidemic in our society due to poor eating habits. For me, education is key and these two topics provide a teachable moment. They hate it when I watch Oprah.

As far as I know, Stanley will be spending his snow day like he spends his rain days, sun days, and every other damn day....sleeping, eating, and pooping. Aaaaahhhh...the life of a cat. He rarely smiles, like the cats in the photo above, but I believe he secretly is thrilled with his life, as I am with mine.