You have got to be kidding me!

I am from the south. Growing up, I thought a bad winter was one that dipped below 40 degrees for more than 2 consecutive weeks. By this time in February, we were pretty much just waiting for the jonquils to pop up and the robins to return any minute. It was quite delightful. Summers, on the other hand...well those, not so much. But the winters, overall, were not at all terrible.

I do not live in the south. I know there are many places in the US that are even more not in the south than my small town in northwest Missouri, but for all intents and purposes, this is a tundra compared to where I grew up. This has been, by far, the snowiest winter I've seen, and I've lived here 5 years. Now, due to my southern background, the first snow of the winter, I'm as giddy as a little kid because quite frankly, never enjoying a large amount of snow as a child, I feel a bit cheated. (But then I remember how not cold it was and feel better instantly.) Even the second and third snow, I'm a little excited. But now that we're on like the eighth snow (I've lost count) I'm just a wee bit tired of the stuff. We've missed 6 days of school, which we make up at the end-and don't even get me started on why my southern hometown has actual built in snow days (where it rarely snows) and we have no built in snow days (where it's snowed every year I've lived here). There have also been 2 or 3 days this year that we've had to dismiss early for the weather, which are the most chaotic days ever. Such a thing happened yesterday.

When I was getting ready to leave my house Friday, I had forgotten all the talk of possible snow until I opened my front door. It was just starting to snow. Now, most days my husband and I ride into town together (it's about 7 miles from our house) and if it's looking bad, we take the 4 wheel drive 4 runner. It just so happened that my son was still sleeping angelically at 7 a.m. when I was ready to leave and I just didn't see the point in awaking him, therefore, putting him in a bad mood and causing a bad day for everyone involved. My husband said are you sure you don't want me to just wake him up and drive you in? I said oh no, I'll be fine. I don't think its supposed to be that bad. That is where I went wrong. I just wouldn't know it for a few hours.

I left my house and when I got on the highway, I was surprised at how covered it already was. No problem, I've been driving on this stuff for 5 years now, and I really was fine. Got to town, and was even more surprised because the roads hadn't been touched by a plow or salt truck. Usually, they are very quick to work on the roads the second it starts precipitating. I guess they were sleeping in a bit while the rest of us were heading off to our various places of employment. I arrived at school and made the treacherous walk to the building. (The parking lot is very far from the front door. Sometimes I question the design of that particular feature and Friday morning was one of those times.)

The kids were abuzz with the weather situation. If you've never heard 10 and 11 year olds speculate on the possible outcomes of situations, it's really funny. They sit around like old men in the coffee shop, but the only thing they can add to a conversation is whatever they've heard their parents say. They try to sound like they know what they're talking about, but they usually get it confused and it's just hilarious to listen to. (Case and point, election time. These kids don't know a thing about politics but the stuff they ranted about during the presidential election was positively hysterical. You can not tell me a 10 year old would actually think a thing about taxes and what possibilities each potential president might bring for those taxes. Little ears hear very well and little brains remember a lot-except when they need to remember it for a test.) So, naturally, every 5 minutes we were asked "Are we getting out early?" which I suppose is the school equivalent of "Are we there yet?" We attempted to get on with our day, until 8:50 which the loudspeaker dinged. This was it. The fateful announcement. School would be dismissed at 11:15, which is pretty early. They usually try to have us stay until 1:10. Of course, the entire school erupted into spontaneous cheers and the next 2 hours were completely worthless in terms of learning.

We made it to 11:15 and sent the kids on their way. Some of the buses hadn't arrived yet, and the teachers are asked to stay until all of the buses leave, but my team (we have teams of teachers at the middle school, and I'm on the 5th grade team. Because I teach 5th grade. See how that works?) was kind enough to let me head on since they all live in town and I do not. So I gathered my uneaten lunch and my purse, bundled up, and headed to my car. I hadn't looked out the window in all this time (I was too busy until then) so I didn't really know how much it had snowed. Oh wow, it had snowed like 3 or 4 inches since I had arrived. I got in my car and let it warm up for a few minutes, while I plotted my course. When I felt ready to tackle my trip home, I eased it into first gear and started to leave the parking lot. I got to the end of the drive where I had to stop and look both ways for traffic. I was turning left out of the parking lot. The road in front of the school is a slight hill to the left, and I'm pretty positive when I say slight, I mean slight. I've never had any trouble on it with any other winter weather so I really didn't think it would be a problem. Again, this is where I went wrong.

I waited until there were no vehicles coming, thank goodness, and turned left. My car literally inched out into the street. Inched. Out. Into. The. Street. I finally got fully in my lane and then continued to inch up the hill. Literally, inch by inch. I had the gas on the floor and I was going nowhere. I was rapidly switching my feet back and forth from the clutch to the gas like I was Dale Earnhardt, Jr. or something, and I was still inching. My pulse quickened. I started breathing fast. My face turned red. I continued what I was doing, because there was absolutely nothing else I could do. I kept inching. Then my face turned even more red when cars started passing me. You know they thought I was just some scaredy cat that didn't want to go more than 3 mph (at least I think that's what the speedometer said. It's hard to be exact when it's under the 5 mph mark.)

As I continued to inch and hyperventilate simultaneously, several thoughts flashed through my head:

1. I should have taken my husband up on his offer to drive me into town. Then I wouldn't be shaking like a trailer park in the path of a tornado.
   
2. Why, oh why, did my driver's ed instructor see fit to entirely skip over the chapter about driving in winter weather? Didn't he know that just because we were taking the course in Arkansas in the summer time, didn't mean that one day, the chances might be pretty good of at least one of us landing in the great white north somewhere in front of a middle school, inching our way up a very slight hill?
   
3. I wonder if this is what it would be like to try and luge UP the hill. (I've been watching too much of the Olympics, apparently.)
   
4. Maybe I'm just paranoid, but I could swear the entire middle school staff might be looking out the front windows, pointing and laughing at me inching up this hill.
   

Pretty much the whole ordeal was brutal and it felt like it took me about 8 hours to get up to the top of this hill.

I finally got to the highway, which still wasn't cleared, and safely made it the 7 miles to my house. I have never been so grateful to get out of a vehicle in my life. It took me almost 40 minutes to drive what normally takes me 15. I spent the rest of the day inside resting my frazzled nerves. All I can do is hope that everyone was intent on their own safe driving, that no one realized who was in that silver Volkswagen inching up the hill, because I seriously, seriously thought I was going to die. From embarrassment, that is.