For the past seven winters of home ownership I have shoveled the snow each and every time it fell. With the brief exception of the season that I was pregnant with Little Guy.
I really don't mind shoveling. It is kind of exhilarating after the first, second and maybe third storms. I consider it exercise. A day to skip the gym.
By the fourth snowfall, I am DONE!
The retired man across the street has lots of free time on his hands. He watches me shovel, rake, dig, plant, move 3 tons of stone (for another post) and do all of the heavy lifting. He says that I "work like a man."
The reason that I am the official snow shoveler for the Gruppie family is that hubby has back issues. Not the "ooh my muscles are tight" type of problems. He has the "wow I have never seen a patient with such severe deterioration at your age or even 30 years older" type of problem. He can barely life the bottle of apple juice anymore. I lovingly like to joke that if I was going to marry someone with an 80 year-old's body I would have married someone with a bank account to match.
This season hubby bought a snow thrower and I am feeling way guilty about it. Yes, shoveling is practically killing me by the end of the season. No, I don't want to add even more emissions into the air.
Maybe the guilt will fade by February?