So when we got a whole week’s warning that the biggest blizzard in recent history was headed our way, I did what any reasonable working mother of two would do. I panicked. I did everything I could think of to be prepared. Got the candles, batteries and battery-operated radios ready. Filled the car with gas. Bought enough food for a couple of months. Filled the tub with water. (Some official nearby said we’d thank him later for this one, the idea being that if power goes off you can still flush the toilet. I don’t know if it’s true.)
Then we waited. We fully expected power to go out first because we live in northeast DC, where high winds regularly knock trees and power out even when it rains. I was also afraid the flat part of our roof would collapse because that is what all the newscasters warned us about, as if there was something we could do to prepare for this. Twenty inches of snow are heavy, so I imagined using a broom to regularly sweep the snow off through a window. But then I imagined losing my balance and falling out the window onto a mountain of snow, so I left that one alone. I risked impending doom because it seemed like the only sane thing to do.
When the snow started it was soft and steady and gentle. I kept waiting for the howling winds and thundersnow and monster storm to intensify. My family would call regularly from Texas and I’d say “We’re fine … for now. No roof collapse yet.”
Only the storm didn’t really get worse. It snowed for a long time, and the snow accumulated, and then the storm was gone. The worse thing that happened is my husband has had to shovel snow for days. We also got lots of down time to relax, watch movies, cook good food and work from home. Were we lucky this time, or do I need to watch – and anticipate – a little less doom and gloom?
Right now I’m watching something else: my girls have a snow fight outside and build a snowman who wears flip flops. We officially are ok.