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FLAGSTAFF, Ariz., Dec. 10 (UPI) -- (Editor's note: Sometimes it's hard to tell whether you're tackling parenthood in the 21st century -- or being tackled by it. This is the latest in a series of reflections by UPI writers.) We survived the blizzard of 2009 -- mentally, physically and it's worth repeating, mentally.
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All four humans, three birds and four dogs made it through the nearly three feet of snow, roaring winds, intermittent power outages, snow and ice impaired satellite dish and most important of all, an already-grounded teenager in a permanent snit over the injustice of double jeopardy at the hands of Mother Nature.
It's not that we didn't have warning. The TV, radio and newspaper had been hinting for days about the winter storm developing off the coast of California that was supposed to bring rain to Arizona's thirsty valley along with an undetermined amount of snow to the mountain region.
By Saturday afternoon, winter storm watches were raised and the word "blizzard" was added to the mix. By Sunday night, the winds had started to kick in, ominous clouds were swirling above the San Francisco peaks and a blizzard warning was in effect.
Having just moved from the city to a rural area lacking trees or anything else to block wind short of well-spaced houses and barns, we put naive faith in the wood-burning stove, with visions of sitting out the storm around a warm, crackling fire sharing adoring glances while roasting hotdogs or a marshmallow on a stick.
Yeah, well, with 60-plus mph wind gusts the "Little House on the Prairie" fantasy quickly deteriorated into "Rescue Me." Without a little device called a damper, all the smoke blew right back down quickly filling the house -- leaving us a choice between choking to death or opening the doors and welcoming Mr. Blizzard into our living room. We chose the latter.
And that was only Hour 1 of the Great Blizzard of 2009.
Actually, it was more like the first three hours and probably would have gone on even longer if I hadn't had threatened my tenacious mountain man of a husband with a fate worse than a "Hannah Montana" DVD marathon if he failed to raise the white flag and admit he had been beaten by the elements.
None of us will ever again snicker at "blankets with sleeves."
As the snow started to dump and fly and dump some more, keeping the satellite dish clear (when we had power, of course) became an issue. In hindsight, I guess I didn't really need some guy on network TV in Phoenix telling me it was "snowing in the high country."
Which brings me back to the double-grounded 14-year-old. This is the kid who would pray for snow days in August. But there she was -- no computer, no cell phone, no walking in snow driven by 60 mph winds to meet up with friends -- just stuck with mom, stepdad, brother, birds and dogs. That's grounded times two.
And heavens to Betsy if someone (that would be me) suggested, "Why don't you use this time to catch up on some school work?" On Monday alone, she took two baths and two showers. The schedule went something like this: Nap, bath, complain of boredom; nap, shower, complain of boredom; nap, bath, complain of boredom; nap, shower, complain of boredom.
Oh, and did I forget to mention the worst part of being grounded? I confiscated her most prized possession -- the straightening iron. Which meant, dread, her family saw her with, double-dread, curly hair!
Day three saw the calm after the storm. Mother Nature has shed the clouds like an old girl gone wild and stars are reflecting on the 3-feet of crisp, new fallen snow.
Hubby no longer has to go out to clear off the satellite dish every hour with a paint roller on an extension pole and is tackling unplowed roads en route to work in his Ford Bronco with the 6-inch lift and beefy tires. Son is heading to work with chains on his tires, but alas, still no school, no computer, no cell phone and no straightener for the grounded one.
As for me, I am again enjoying the warmth of the wood-burning stove and looking forward to my first snowboarding lesson this coming weekend. And of course, making sure that beefy, lifted Bronco remains in good working condition just in case a trip to the emergency room becomes part of the itinerary.
