The Snow Came Again....

....and refused to melt away. My marriage was the only thing to begin to melt down. What is it with my life that the minute the bulbous fluffy flakes drift down my stress levels seem to go straight up? The snow began on Thursday - an innocent little flurry hoping to paint the landscape only to whip through the air and disappear the moment that they landed. Sproglet had the mother of all toilet accidents - a violent stomach bug exploding within him that gave him no time to connect his brain with the urge to purge. Oh, the horror. The horror. I packed him off to nursery and duly got the 3pm call that signalled his return and quarantine from his pals. By Friday the snow was no longer playing with the idea of creating a wonderland and instead had launched a full on 6 centimetre assault.

My sitter cancelled. The car couldn't be moved. The roads were an icy death trap. Sproglet and I trudged to the shops and I had to stop in the post office to blow on his frozen tiny toes. He cried because it was so damn cold. I still made it out to work xmas drinks - nothing was going to stop me. But boy did that take some serious planning and begging and all sorts. Perhaps because I was tired the next day and the snow refused to lessen it's firm grip on everything, that made me slightly on edge. Husband disappeared to sleep for 12 hours - a punishing week at work - de rigueur at this time of year for him - left him shattered. A knot began to twist it's way up my stomach and settle as a lump in my throat. We were ships that passed in the cold dark winter nights - barely trading words, hardly embracing, strangers in the same house.

Even on the rare occasions when he was home, Husband was the ghost in the room - his flesh there but his mind engrossed in a movie, on the computer, in a book or magazine, never engaged with me. I resented the fact I did the Xmas list, sent the cards, got the gifts, posted said gifts, packed, washed clothes, planned and sorted and arranged and got zero thanks in return. I felt lonely and taken for granted. He was there but not really there and I... I wanted to be anywhere but there.

The row brewed, in perfect time with the subsequent snow storm. Visiting friends departed after a festive xmas lunch in a toasty pub and braved a 2 hour drive that turned into a 12 hour marathon drive home. I unleashed my resentment, my loneliness, my anger, my frustration, my disappointment at a bewildered Husband. He felt victimised. My best friend had moved house and in the hectic-ness I had failed to help her - the snow making me a prisoner. My packed diary keeping me away. I braved the cold and marched to her lovely new house brandishing champagne - the weather had kindly chilled on route. Tears tripped me and I didn't really know why. I just felt so... well sad. Tired, unable to keep going in my hamster wheel. I need to change my life, our lives, the way his job is destroying us - and keeping us in this clamped fist of a money trap.

Then my flight home to Ireland got cancelled. I sobbed at the thought of my Mother alone over Xmas, and us snowed in, with no steaming turkey, and no main gift for Sproglet - it having been already shipped to N. Ireland. After buying new flights, (a cool £300) a hellish 2 hour train journey and a delayed flight from Birmingham - I am home, to my Mother's. Husband arrives tonight.

I slept for 10 hours, awoke and showered and today looked out at the view, absent of white stuff. I felt utter relief. A calm sense of peace that everything would be ok. I just needed to escape. I hate the fucking snow. On the surface it makes everything clean and fresh and a brilliant dazzling white. A quiet descends as the roads are deserted and everyone hibernates indoors. It would almost appear serene. And yet, beneath the surface it is utterly isolating, dangerous and somehow seeps in to every aspect of your life.

To some, it means Xmas. To me it means disaster. No cosy days unable to get to school or playground fights resulting in my tights having to dry on the radiator much to math's teachers discomfort. No fun and bright blinding sunshine and sliding down hills in joy. No, to me the perfect flakes just mean trouble.

The year draws to a close and with it reflection and a promise to make things better. As long as the snow stops, melts and stays the hell away, I reckon 2010 will be vintage.

Merry Xmas - and may all of them be any colour but fucking white.