Snowmaggeddon

Agghhhhh! I am so. freaked.out. Last night it thundersnowed (thundered, lighteninged, and snowed all at once), and this morning there were about three bajillion feet of snow covering the city of Chicago. People abandoned their cars to the elements and left them sitting in the middle of major thoroughfares (re: Lake Shore Drive!!).It feels like, as one friend wrote on her Facebook post, “the end of days.”

But that’s not what’s freaking me out. Snowstorm of epic proportions = people can’t make it to work = Abe’s job just got a whole lot harder. He was up almost all night fielding phone calls and making last minute schedule adjustments, and today things got even worse. At one of his client accounts, every single officer called off because of the weather. That means that Abe just left to drive to that account (which is one hour away in good weather and good traffic) to work an all night shift because no one else could do it. I am normally paranoid about his driving anyway, but right now I am on the verge of a full blown panic attack. The thought of him driving that distance on these roads makes me feel ill.

To make matters worse, he did not realize he would have to go in until a couple hours ago, at which point I realized I needed to run to the store. On my way to the store, I had the opportunity to acquaint myself with the dismal state of our snowy streets and thus returned home in a state of high anxiety.

I was determined that Abe get on the roads as soon as possible because I did not want him speeding in this weather. As soon as I entered the door, I rushed to the kitchen and began ripping packages apart and scooping substandard foods onto plates and into the microwave. Meanwhile, Abe wandered into the kitchen carrying a book he’d discovered in my absence.

“Listen to this!” he exclaimed excitedly. “I found this wonderful book on the intersection between science and the gospel, and this passage does such a great job explaining evolution.” I stared at him, mouth slightly agape, as he read me a long passage from the book. He seemed completely oblivious to the obvious need for haste. I had, I silently reflected, called home twice to remind him to be ready to get on the roads by the time I got back. As soon as the microwave beeped, I switched plates and tried to be patient while noting that he had yet to put on his tie, and that one pant leg was securely tucked into his sock.

When the second plate was done, I rushed the food to the table and plopped down. Abe reluctantly shut his book, and I said grace quickly, making sure to include a plea for Abe’s safe and slow driving in the prayer. As soon as we started dinner, Abe immediately began speculating about the relationship between meta-cognition and the breath of life. I shoveled my food in as fast as possible, hoping against hope that Abe would get the message and start eating already, but my good example was totally wasted. Occasionally, he would take an absent minded bite of our substandard fare, but he was way more intent on figuring out the relationship between apes, God and death than eating his dinner.

By that point I was practically in despair. “Do you need snacks for tonight?” I interrupted brusquely, clearing my plate to the sink.

“Snacks?” Abe asked vacantly. “Oh, um, yes, snacks would be great.”

I threw some snacks into a bag, set it down next to Abe, and looked pointedly at the clock. “You need to go. Now.” I said, ruthlessly. “I don’t want you to die on this commute because you were running late and speeding on those roads.”

Abe nodded compliantly and continued his verbal speculations as he put on his tie and straightened out his sock situation. “Okay!” he said cheerfully as he leaned down to kiss me. “I’m going now–and I’ll be very safe, I promise.”

“Good,” I replied. “You’re allowed to keep thinking about evolution, but only if you promise to pay attention to the roads, too.”

He nodded good humoredly and promised again to be safe.

But I am not convinced. Somewhere out there, my husband is pondering the mysteries of the universe while driving on snowy, icy roads. I know he’s thinking about dinosaur bones instead of focusing on how to keep his own bones intact, and that scares me.

So please say a prayer for my sweet, spacey husband tonight. And if you feel so inclined, feel free to throw in a line about his paranoid, anxiety-ridden wife, too.