Thursday, March 29, 2007


We had a passel of tornados roar through the state last night. Last night was truly one of those "Dark and stormy nights." There were at least tornado warnings in 8 different counties in Kansas at one point. Thankfully, none were in our county.

I've spent my whole life living in"Tornado Alley." Tornado's don't really scare me, but I do have a tremendous respect for them. I've never been in a tornado, but I've seen first hand the destruction.

When I was 9, a tornado hit my grandparents home. I remember that night, we lived about 20 miles away, and the sky was a funny shade of green. I remember that--the funny looking sky. We got a phone call fairly early in the evening, it was for my dad. I remember him saying "Mom and Dad got hit by a tornado." and then he took off for their place. They were OK.

They'd just got home from town and Grandma looked out the west window and said to Grandad, "Dale, the garage just blew away." They didn't have time to get to the basement, instead, they took shelter in their small kitchen in front of the refrigerator. A 17 year old neighbor, rode his horse up to their house and found them once the storm was over, because all the phone lines were down. They were fine, just cuts and bruises. He helped them pull the pickup away from the car (where the tornado left them), and they drove to town, to my Uncle Dale's house. Then, they started calling the family. And, being tough, ranching/farming folk, they went back out to the farm to check things out.

We went to the farm the next day. I was really scared about my Grandma and Grandad, I knew they were OK and weren't hurt, but I was scared and really worried until I saw them for myself. I remember driving up the hill and seeing that the barn was gone. The garage was gone. The well house was gone. And the house, well, it was still standing, but was not the strong, sturdy, secure house it had always been. I remember getting out of the pickup and then I just started to cry. I sobbed and sobbed and Grandma just hugged my close and kept telling me that it was just a house and that everything important was OK--that she and Grandad were OK. She showed me her cuts and bruises and just held me until I calmed down.

We then walked through the house. While it was still standing, 1/4 of the roof was gone. Where my Dad's bedroom had been, there wasn't a roof. As you walked in and out of the upstairs bedrooms, and towards the outside walls, you could see clear down to the first floor. The front and back walls of the house had been pulled away from the upstairs floor--just pulled out. The side walls were supporting the upper floor. There was debris everywhere. All the Aunts and Uncles were there, cleaning, and loading up Grandma and Grandad's belongings.

The house was torn down and they moved to town into a new house. No one has lived at the farm since then and my dad now owns that quarter section of ground. It still holds a place very dear to my heart, but isn't the same without the house.

One of my dear friends, Debbie, lived a mile away from Grandma and Grandad. (It was her brother who rode to the house to check on them.) The tornado came towards their house after hitting my grandparents. Unlike my grandparents, their family made it to the basement, and their house wasn't touched. And yet, the next summer, we were at camp during a thunderstorm, and poor Debbie simply freaked out. She was convinced there would be another tornado, and it would hit us at camp. She was really traumatized.

I've only gone to a basement twice--once was when I was in college in Texas the other time I was 32 and had a 4 month old baby. Oops, gotta change that to three times now, cause last summer, while at the fairgrounds, we took shelter under the grandstand. That was probably the time I got the most nervous--not scared, just nervous.

I didn't actually see a tornado until I was 32. I did go to the basement with the kids, but, after a few minutes, Kevin (who, like all KS men, was outside watching) called me upstairs to watch too. We, with the kids, stood outside and watched the tornado until it dissipated.

Tornados are a fact of nature. We who live on the Great Plains don't have to deal with hurricanes or earthquakes, just tornados. They don't scare me, but I'm really glad we didn't have to deal with one last night.

Monday, March 26, 2007

What I did during Spring Break...or I only wanted shelves

Spring Break to many means traveling to a southern, coastal city, drink lots of "beverages", expose a lot of flesh and spend way to much money.

To me Spring Break means time at home to rest and relax with my children. OK, the laughter can stop now. It really means spring cleaning, working harder than I do at work, and being extremely frustrated with my children.

I spent the first 4 days of my break cleaning my house. I mopped and scrubbed the floors of my house--which really needed to be done--which I had postponed for over a month due to the melting snow and mud. I'm sorry, but it frustrates me to no end to finish mopping/scrubbing the floor and then to have two dogs, two children, one spouse and one cat, all with muddy feet, walk onto my clean-no-longer floor. So, I waited until I thought the mud was gone to re-mop.

I then cleaned the carpet in the living room. It looked just as good as my mopped floors. Being so happy with clean floors, my spring cleaning then spread to the walls and to my drawers and closets. Andy cleaned his room--to my specifications. It only took 2 days. Miss Kat also cleaned her room to my standards only it took her 5 days to get the job finished. Yep, FIVE days.

But all this cleaning made me feel good. I take great satisfaction in having a clean house.

And it lasted all of 24 hours because it rained.

Now, living in an area where our average annual rainfall is 16 inches a year, rain is a blessing. And, we've been in a 7 year drought. You just don't gripe about it raining. Nope, you can't gripe about it unless you've just mopped your floors and cleaned your carpet. Then, you can gripe--a little.

Part of my spring cleaning frenzy is organizing. Cleaning out the pantry, straightening storage areas, making my house more organized and manageable. I've been nagging Kev for several weeks about shelves in the laundry room. I have two small worthless cabinets. I wanted them gone and replaced with functional simple shelves. He's been procrastinating. He must have gotten tired of the nagging, or else felt that since he couldn't work outside because of the wet and the rain, he might as well give in and make me happy. And, if he was working inside, then he wouldn't be tracking in any mud and wouldn't have to listen to me gripe about muddy floors.

Saturday morning, we ran to town to get some shelves. And I thought we'd hang them once we got home.

We didn't.

Instead, once we got home, Kev began emptying out the room and told me we might as well tape and texture the walls. Then, I could paint the room and he'd then hang up the shelves. OK, fine.

(Background info here...we live in a modular home in which some of the rooms have regular tape and textured sheet rock walls. But some of the rooms have vinyl covered sheet rock which is like wall paper. Rather than ripping all the walls down to the studs, we are experimenting and taping over the seams of the vinyl and then texturing the walls, making them look like "real" walls.)

Our quick taping job didn't get finished quickly. I had the bright idea to take out the doorway to the basement, to widen it from the standard 36 inches to what the walls were--which is about a 40 inch opening. We'll never hang a door there, so why have a doorway framed for a door? So, we had to cut sheet rock and tear out the framing for the door. It's a good idea, it was just more work than Kev wanted to do...but I persuaded him with my feminine wiles. Then we discovered that there were nails holding two walls up--but the nails weren't in a stud. So, I again used my feminine wiles and persuaded Kev to rip that off while I ran to town to get one piece of new sheet rock. While driving to town, he called to tell me there were two layers of sheet rock on that particular wall--one was 5/16" thick, the other standard 1/2". You can't buy 5/16" sheet rock...and he didn't know why the manufacturers did this. We decided to work with what we could and still put up new sheet rock. More time and more expense, but I nagged until Kev agreed that we really should do this correctly.

So, now our minor project became a little more major, and a lot messier. My spring cleaning job was destroyed by the rain, the muddy feet that go in and out my house and the construction project. We cleaned up again, but somehow, my house still doesn't feel as clean as it did on Friday.

All I wanted was a clean house and some shelves.

I still don't have the shelves.

Friday, March 16, 2007


Announcements first--There won't be any blogs next week, (March 19-25) because I'll have the week off for Spring Break. And, since I'm too cheap to pay for Internet connectivity at home...I won't have access to update this blog. If someone would like to pay for our Internet connectivity, my children would forever be in your debt.

On to the main feature.

Today, I feel the need to talk about...snot.

Snot may not be a genteel topic of conversation, but it is something that all people can relate to, after all, we all produce mucus, boogers, or snot. There's a lot of snot at my house. It's always at my house, never going away, never staying in the background. It's never polite. I'm sure you are hoping that I have stock in Kleenex. I don't. I buy Kleenex, but appear to be the only one using the Kleenex.

Miss Kat, beautiful, petite, pixie faced, the blond perfection of a child is a snot factory. She'd be a billionaire if only there was a use for snot. That child doesn't bother with Kleenex's, instead, she snorts that stuff down her throat. And she just doesn't sound very ladylike when shes snortn' and snottin' all day long. The child's allergies are always evident. Because she's always got snot somewhere.

Now, on occasion, she'll have a Kleenx forced upon her by me, her also-allergy-prone-but-not-quite-as-much-snot-producing-mother. She'll blow into that Kleenx, clear out those nasal passages, toss the Kleenx, and 10 minutes later, she's snortin' and suckin' that snot down her throat, or, dare I say, she'll wipe her nose with her fist or her sleeve. Yeah, nasty. And who does her laundry? Um Hum. You know who, me.

Now this winter, we had a different experience with snot, we still had the runny noses and sniffles and snot sucking sounds, but we had a picking problem this winter. Now, not a pickin' and eatin' problem, but a pickin' at those dry crusty pieces of snot that cling to and plug up the nostril. Those dry crusties also don't seem to blow out, so the only way to get those annoying things out is to pick them out. Then where do they go? That is one of life's unsolved mysteries. I know where they don't go...and that'sthe mouth. (Cause "that's just gross Mom.")

Since Kat doesn't ever seem to have a Kleenx about, her loving wonderful father decided to teach her how to use the old Oklahoma Hankie.

For those of you who don't know what an "Oklahoma Hankie" is, it is not a Hankie. Instead, you go outside, in the grass. (Please, stay in the grass, don't do this on a sidewalk.) Press one finger on a nostril to hold it closed, and blow "vigorously" out the other side. If all works well, the snot will land on the ground. If it doesn't work well, well,'ll need a Kleenx to wipe off your face, or shirt if you're lucky. (More laundry for me, o yeah, and I usually get the face-wiping duty too.)

Kat decided she'd stick to her sleeve. (Me too.)

But, all this is changing at our house folks! Yes indeedy do!

Monday night, Kat had another allergy treatment for Milk and milk products. Now, milk is a known mucus producer, so we decided that this should be her first food allergy treatment. (All others to this point have been environmental allergens.)

Holy cow, for the first time in 10 years, I didn't have a snot-sucking, snot-snorting child. Nope, it's gone, dried up, eliminated. Now, instead of becoming the billionaire of snot, she'll just have to be a peon. Sure, we get some sniffles now, but that's all they are...sniffles. No more snorts, snot sucking, nose wiping people at my house! So far, so good. I've gotta say, I'm not going to miss that snot. Not one bit.

The snot factory is hereby closed. Hallelujah!

Monday, March 12, 2007

Born in the USA...

I just reviewed a book for the library's blog (see the link on this page.)

Born in the USA by Marsden Wagner.

All I can say is, if I were to have another baby, I'd use a midwife, and have the baby at home.

I learned that it is safer to have a baby in Europe than it is in the USA. Midwives are used extensively for normal, low-risk births in Europe. OB's are only for those high-risk and dangerous births.

I was appalled to read about how the medical industry has taken over childbirth, and made the whole process convenient for the Doctor and not for the mother or baby.

If you give birth in the hospital, you let the Doctor and the hospital have control--you do what they want, not what you want. We all know that more people get sick and die from infections they get in the hospital. So, why do we have babies there? Childbirth is a very personal experience. I felt very relaxed in the hospital, but it takes a lot to make me tense, and I really didn't care who saw what and who was looking at me, but I know many who tense up.

Heck, I know that we give birth just like cats do, like dogs, like horses, cows, and goats. I was a labor coach for a friend years ago. She was a country girl--just like me, and asked me "what does it look like down there?" My reply--"Just like a laboring cow. You've swelled up just like they do." And we do. The physical changes are very similar to our pets and farm animals. So who do we have to give birth at a hospital, but animals can where ever they are? We mammals do it the same way. Yes, some animals die, yes, sometimes there are complications. And, sometimes, women die, and sometimes, there are complications. So why plan for the worst when 90% of the time, nothing goes wrong? It just doesn't make sense to me. Never has. And, now, I'm convinced that we need to change how we view childbirth in America.

How many of us hear horror stories of childbirth? And how many are scared to have babies? Yeah, I was, I remember wondering if I could do this. Then I remembered that women have been having babies for millions of years. Yes, some die. But most DO this. My mother, my grandmothers, all did this. IF they could, then I could. We are all scared of the unknown. I think that's why so many of us share labor stories, it's something that only we women, who have had, or who soon will have can experience. Men certainly can't.

But, we are taught that
  • we can't give birth safely outside a hospital.
  • we are told that we have to be induced. (80% of the time, that's not true!)
  • we are convinced that we can't tolerate labor pain and need to be given an epidural. (I didn't, and thought that labor was no worse than cramps.)
  • We are convinced that we need a MAN to help us have a baby...let's see, who has more experience with this, men? or women.
  • we don't think we are strong enough, that our bodies just simply can't have a baby. What? baby, we women are way WAY stronger than men are.
I'm all for home birth. Maybe I'm so open to home births because both of my parents, who were born in 1943, were born at home. Most of my Aunts and Uncles were born at home. All were healthy. I thought about a home birth when I was expecting Kat, but, discovered that there aren't any midwives here. I talked to a couple of nurses I know, but they said they legally couldn't deliver babies outside hospitals. So, I caved and went to the hospital.

We women have changed things before, remember, years ago, women wouldn't dream of breastfeeding their babies--formula was much better and more convenient. And we've changed that. We realize that breastmilk is the best thing for babies. It's time to do the same thing to birth. We women need to take control and demand changes.

It's ridiculous that we live in the USA and accept "policy." We live in the richest country in the world and yet we have the worst maternity morbidity rates in the industrialized world. The worst.

All countries where midwives attend birth have lower infant mortality rates than does the United States.

It's got to change. I've started--I've started telling Miss Kat that she can have her baby wherever she wants. That she can have her babies safely at home, or in a birthing center, with midwives. Hopefully, by the time she's ready to have a baby, the rest of the country will believe the same thing.

Soaring emotions

Saturday, my heart soared and broke--within minutes.

Our kids are involved in 4-H's Shooting Sports program. Both shoot archery. Over the past two weeks, we've been to two competitions, one at Hays, the other at Cimarron.

Both of my kids are good shots. Andy is an excellent shot, and my heart soared as he shot well, at both events. At Hays, he took 3rd place in his age division. And we don't know how he scored at Cimarron, as we left before final scores were posted. But, I'd venture to guess that he's in the top 3 again.

It's a pleasure to watch your child perform well, to excel at something that they enjoy. My heart soared watching him shoot so well.

Then it broke. This is Miss Kat's first year to compete. At Hays, she didn't do well, but the wind was howling from the North at speeds of 30 to 40 mph. The temperature was 32, the windchill was 0. It's difficult to shoot in that kind of condition. (Andy shot later in the day, when when the wind went down and the temperature went up.) But, she did it and was proud that she shot. I was proud of her too. We had higher expectations at Cimarron.

The weather was much nicer, but little Miss Kat was shooting with three 15 year old boys who were a foot taller, who had stronger bows and more experience, (and did I mention they were 15 year old boys?) She didn't shoot at the distance we assumed she would, as a beginner, instead, she shot at the same firing line at the 15 year old boys. She quickly became discouraged, dis heartened and even cried because she was so frustrated.

As a parent, what do you do? We comforted, we told her we were very proud of her (and we were.) We encouraged her. No, she didn't qualify for State this spring, but there's next fall. And, as her coach, I mentally made some decisions about how to help her succeed.

I decided that she, and any kid wanting to compete has to use a 20 lb. bow. Those 15 lb. bows just don't have the umph needed. I'm going to make sure we have the best arrows for our competitions. I'm going to try to have different shooting experiences, putting the younger kids with the older kids, I'm going to have them scoot back and shoot at greater distances.

I hate, absolutely hate, watching a kid be disappointed and discouraged when I know and they know they can do better. I hate feeling like I let my kids down, because I'm relatively new at this too. My learning curve is as great as theirs--and they won't even let me shoot.

As a Mom, I hate feeling so excited for one child, and so heartbroken for the other. Man, this parenting stuff is hard.

Friday, March 09, 2007

Graphic Novels

When I was a little girl, there were books and there were comic books. Now, there are books, comic books and Graphic novels. Graphic novels are simply comic books that are put in a more permanent binding--a real book binding. Usually, several issues are bound into one graphic novel.

I've been reading some graphic novels lately. Just must be my mood. Some nostalgia, some guilty pleasure. Kev makes fun of me for reading "comics" as an adult, but I don't care. I enjoy reading them and looking at the pictures.

This week, I've read a Batgirl one, a Sojourn one and now I'm reading a collection of DC comics from the late 80's. I've enjoyed them all, but have to admit, I've enjoyed the Sojourn ones the most. I enjoyed the Pulitzer winning "Maus" and "Persopolis" too.

I like the art of comics--well, I like the well drawn ones. I prefer those in full color, on glossy paper, the one is a lot of realism...maybe not. I mean, Sojourn is built like a Barbie doll, big boobs, small waist and hips. Ain't no way that woman really exists, she'd fall over. Yet, she's a strong woman, a strong character--being pretty just adds to the feel of the story...and I really enjoy reading and looking at her "books." (The male characters are nice eye candy too!)

When I was a kid, we'd usually get to buy a couple of comics every time we went to the grocery store. Now, unlike most of the world, we went once a month. Yep, once a month, we'd go to Dodge and hit 3 grocery stores, getting the best buys. Mom would embarrass me by having two carts full of groceries and would make me push one--usually the full one. But, once we hit the check out stand, she'd let me pick out a couple of comics. Steve was along sometimes, so on those days, I'd get to pick one and he'd pick another. Sometimes, we'd be allowed to get two each. Those were really exciting days. Imagine, a total of four comic books!

We always bought an Archie Double Digest comic. At one time, we had every one printed--a huge 3 foot tall stack. Foolishly, they were tossed once Steve and I left home. They'd be worth a fortune now.

We'd also usually buy a Superman or Justice League of America comics. I really enjoyed Aquaman and Wonder Woman. I'd sometimes get some "scary" ones, with ghost stories, vampire stories, etc. Sometimes, we'd get Disney comics. It really varied from Month to Month. And, I have to admit, we hated the serialized strips, because we didn't always find the continuation.

Comics were a treat. I'm sure for Mom, they were a cheap treat. We'd read them on the drive home, surrounded by sacks of groceries. (And, I do mean surrounded.) We'd read them over and over and over again once we got home. Even Dad would read them. It was a family treat--one we all enjoyed.

So, today, I'm all grown up. And I still like to read "Graphic Novels." And I probably always will.

Wednesday, March 07, 2007

I did it!

I am amazing.

I surprised myself this morning. I did something I've never done before.

And, I didn't screw it up.

The amazing, wonderful, surprising thing I did was to...

Are you ready?


I pushed the Ranger pickup out of the mud with the diesel pickup.

What? You aren't impressed?

Fine. Be that way.

But, to me, it was a big deal. Andy got the pickup stuck--right where the drive curves around the north side of our pine trees, you know that spot that is now bottomless. The one where the snow melt sits and with the dirt, plots and makes diabolical plans to grab any and all tires, and to hold on to those tires until summer.

But, we defeated that slimy sneaky spot because I didn't get mad at my 15 year old driver. I didn't rant and rave and tell him that he KNEW better than to drive the pickup into the yard. Nope, I remained calm and rational and thought this out. (I really did, cause if I didn't get him out, then I wasn't going anywhere either.)

I thought about changing my clothes, or at least putting on coveralls and mud boots and trying to push him out physically--just my two feet, arms, and the heft of my body mass. Then I decided that I probably would only get muddy and he would still be stuck. So, I decided that I could probably push him out with the diesel--in 4 wheel drive of course.

So, I backed up, turned around, and managed to gently bump bumpers and actually pushed him out--without any damage to either vehicle.

Of course that dang kid didn't stop at the highway to see if I could get out. And I was a little peeved, because it took me a little maneuvering to get out, but we made it too. Everyone got out, and got to work and school on time.

My dad will be so proud of me. My husband too--once he stops rolling his eyes and gives me that tolerant amused look...again.

Tuesday, March 06, 2007

Best Dressed

I was the best dressed person at the Livestock Sale Barn yesterday. Yep, nobody looked better than I did. There I was, amidst the goats and sheep, and the poop in my nice dress shoes, and work clothes. At the Sale Barn.

Why was I there--on a work day--in my Monday best?

Well, since we didn't breed our goat last fall, we needed to get a couple of bucks for 4-H. Andy needs them to show, and so we had to buy some. We tried last fall to buy a new Doe and a Buck to breed and build our own herd, but, like most of my plans, this one fell through. So, we decided last week to go to the Sale Barn.

My plan was that I'd only be gone from work a couple of hours, so I went in my good clothes. And we all know how good I am at planning...

We were there from 10 a.m. until 3. Of course the goats that Andy picked out were in the very last batch sold. Naturally. And, being the control freak that I am, I wouldn't leave my 15 year old son alone at the sale barn. It was his money, but who knew if the bidding fever would hit and he'd wind up bidding against himself and paying way to much! So, I sat there with my nice shoes and clothes, which now reeked of goats and sheep and poop.

It was interesting though. We saw some really nice goats and some really poor ones that hadn't been taken care of. One pretty doe looked really good at a distance, except she had a nasty udder and her hooves have never been trimmed. Her feet looked like those elf shoes that Santa's elves wear. You know those shoes, they curl up at the toes? That is exactly what her feet looked like. I don't know how she walked. One young pregnant doe's water broke as she went into the sale ring. She delivered shortly thereafter. Andy said she didn't look good, with all the stress. I probably wouldn't look good--or feel good either, giving birth in a strange barn, with lots and lots of commotion. Poor baby.

Being the best dressed person at the sale barn sure makes you stand out. I'm sure there were many old farmers wondering just what the heck I was doing there. I stood out like a flower in a manure pile. Which is how I felt. But I'm sure those old farmers were muttering about "city slickers" being in their turf. I'm sure someone laughed about me not wanting to get dirty or getting poop on my shoes. But, I know that I really didn't care about manure on my shoes--they washed. And I didn't care about my clothes getting dirty--they wash too. What bugged me most of all was that I couldn't crawl into the pens with the animals. That I had to pay attention to where I was going. And, I know that I'm not a city slicker. Not by any stretch of the imagination. I'd have been much more comfortable in my jeans and old shoes. Then, I'd have fit right in.

Nevertheless, I'll take great pride in being the Best Dressed person at the Sale Barn. I kinda enjoy being the "flower in the manure," if only for a day.

Monday, March 05, 2007

My most embarrassing Christmas present

Y'all can blame Ree--otherwise known as Pioneer Woman for this post. (See her link to the right...) Oh, and, men, beware, this is FEMALE stuff.

My most interesting Christmas present was one my Grandma B gave me. I was a new, young, innocent college graduate in my first professional job. Wearing dresses quite frequently at the time, I discovered a hazard of wearing panty hose day in and day out--a yeast infection.

The first time I got one, I thought I had somehow contracted a STD, but didn't know how, since the S part of the STD hadn't happened. But, that itching that quickly drives you mad, the burning, the I-can't-sit-still itchiness was something entirely new. Picture the young, professional, with itching down there trying not to scratch while sitting at her desk, trying not to squirm at her desk, wondering if there was an area in a library where she could sneak to and pull up the dress and the pantyhose down, just to scratch--without being seen. I was miserable. So, I was greatly relieved when I went to the nurse and was diagnosed. Of course, I waited for two itchy days before asking the nurse, but relief was in sight. She got me much needed medicine and relief was mine.

After that first diagnosis, I frequently got yeast infections and learned that it was common among women wearing pantyhose day after day after day after day...and that it might be a hereditary condition, that women in some families are more susceptible.

Being the person I am, I asked my mother and my Grandmother. Yes, Grandma had a tendency to get them. Great. Of all the things to inherit, I get this. Lovely.

Which leads me to that Christmas gift.

Grandma bought me six pair of...

Crotchless pantyhose.

My 60-something year old grandmother bought me...crotchless pantyhose.

I was shocked. Floored. Embarrassed all to heck. After all, I opened them in the same room as my Grandfather, my Father, my Brother, my Uncle, my Aunt, my cousins... well, you get the picture.

I wanted to die.

Then, Grandma drew attention to me and to the crotchless wonders be telling me--out loud, in front of my aunt, my mother, my brother...and so on, that she got them for me to help me avoid yeast infection.

Um, yeah, thanks Grandma. Thanks for getting me crotchless pantyhose and thanks for telling all the "men" in my life that I get yeast infections.

The only good thing was that my brother didn't pipe up and ask "So, Sis, what are Yeast infections and where do you get them?"

Thursday, March 01, 2007

The weather man was wrong!

The last two snow storm forecasts have been wrong. It's so comforting when the weatherman is back to normal, and getting the forecasts wrong. It makes me feel that life will return to normal.

The forecast for this past Saturday was for a blizzard with accumulations up to 12 inches. (6, 9, 12, we heard them all.) While we did have a blizzard, with wind gusts up to 60 mph, that snow was movin' way to fast to stop and drop, so our accumulation was...nuthin, nada, zip, zero. Well, that's not entirely accurate, there were a few drifts out and about in the country, but not in our driveway! That was enough to make me want to dance a jig, whoop and holler. But I didn't, because that would be undignified, and my in-laws were here, and, well, what would they think if they saw me acting less-than-dignified.

So, anyway, in my mind, the forecast was wrong. Yes, we had the blizzard, but no accumulation, so it was a non-issue in my mind, so therefore, was a wrong forecast.

The second forecast they messed up on was last night's forecast. Another blizzard, another 3 to 6 to 9 inches accumulation. It was supposed to roll in by 6 p.m., but never rolled in. That storm rolled right over us and hit the folks further east, those without snow on the ground. So, the weatherman was wrong again, and that makes me very happy.