Raising a child in Arkansas comes with it's own set of challenges; like having to dose the young one with prescribed flouride because the water in these parts remains untreated and knowing that the phrases "get me some" and "y'all" stand a strong chance of creeping their way into the bambino's vocabulary, and not in the clever "I'm particularly good at accents" way but in the way that leaves him sounding alarmingly uneducated.
And then there's the fact even the faintest whisper of snow causes the entire state to close up shop. Schools close for days at a time, I'm released from work early and Wal-Mart sells out of cat food and bread. You know, because nothing encourages you to eat a half a dozen sandwiches like a dusting of powder and on the off chance you're marooned for an extended period of time, the last thing you need to be bothered with is your cat making a serious run for the meat on your face.
Sure I poke fun, but there was a time last winter where we were sequestered to our home for nearly six days. Snow removal isn't exactly Arkansas' forte. There simply aren't enough household activities to distract the terrible-twos for almost a week and I ran out of wine, gravely contemplating the effects of drinking rubbing alcohol.
A lesson was learned, the hard way. Now when the weatherman calls for snow I have a stockpile of wine and episodes of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse on hand to keep us both entertained and sane while the public works department is busy schooling itself in plowing.