Dear Snow Plow Driver

Dear Mr. Snow-Plow Driver,

I’ve heeded all popular advice in “taking time to cool down” before I decided to address you about THE snow issue. It has been two weeks and I still feel like sneaking into your home and stealing all of the light bulbs out of your fixtures in the middle of the night. I’m not sure the cooling down period was all that effective.

I am not certain what prohibits you from plowing the massive amounts of snow from our subdivision into the nice empty area between our driveway and the neighbors in the cul-de-sac. Instead, you repeatedly relieve your plow right in front of my mailbox over and over and over again. After the snowfall we had the week before Christmas, you left a pile of snow as high as the mailbox. Pile upon pile upon pile provided a nice embankment that spanned about 4 feet to each side and a generous 6 feet in front of the mailbox.

When you do this, our mail lady leaves scathing messages about clearing the approach to our mailbox or she is going to STOP.DELIVERING.OUR.MAIL.

The task is undaunted by a mere shovel. If I attempted to tackle the pile via shovel, we would likely see the spring thaw before I reached the half-way point. The other option we have is our ATV with a plow. In the event that I figured out how to operate the machine without injuring or maiming myself or innocent bystanders, I am still left in a predicament. What do I do with Kate? Our mailbox is not visible from the house. So, my first option would be to leave her unattended in the house while I plow out the mailbox. The second option would be to strap her car seat to the back rack of the ATV and have her wildly screaming “faster faster faster” as I careen recklessly through the snow. I am fairly certain that both options would result in a friendly visit from Child Protective Services.

As such, I ignore the love letters that the mail lady leaves until Craig gets home.

Mail lady isn’t so fond of my lack of response to her threats. So, she upped the ante and left a diagram in my mailbox that showed me exactly how to clear the approach and what it should look like when it is completed. In case you are unaware, she needs unimpeded access that does not require her to get out of her car or put it into reverse. If you see the mail lady, please flip her off, and let her know I lack muscles, not the ability to read.

Remember the snowfall that we got the week before Christmas? No? It was when you left a snow mountain at the end of our driveway so high that we thought someone might have stolen our house when we arrived home and couldn’t find it. Well, during that particular week the mail lady decided that she didn’t want to play anymore and the only thing she delivered was on her word to stop bringing our mail.

Since she decided to throw her hissy fit, I didn’t get my Christmas cards that I was eagerly anticipating from the printer for two additional days. I do realize that I was cutting it close as it was asshat, but I had timed it just perfectly. I obviously hadn’t provided the allowance for the tantrum thrown by the mail lady and the utter incompetence of the plow driver (yeah, you). During this diatribe, my darling daughter looked at me and said “Is Daddy plowing the freaking driveway?” You forced me to speak in pseudo-explicatives to get my point across, which apparently has earned me yet another Mother of the Year Nomination.

Mr. Snow-Plow Driver, you screwed with my reputation by making my cards late amongst your other infractions. I’m working on a neon sign with flashing arrows that will direct you to the empty area that is perfectly suitable for dumping snow. If you need a diagram, I’d be happy to provide it. The mail lady learned me real well.

If you fail to oblige, I will find a way for my darling Kate to accompany you on a day of plowing, while jumping up and down screaming “We are FREAKING plowing.”

Sincerely,

While the rest of the city has lost their snow already, we are still hiding behind the white mountains at the end of our driveway