A man's job.

I haven't gotten up a single day this week to exercise. Not feeling too badly about it either. Why? Because I've been shoveling mounds of the white stuff once, if not twice (gasp!) a day. I can remember when I first moved into this house, I watched my neighbors mowing their lawns, a man's job, if you ask me, and vowed never to mow the lawn, lest I set a dangerous precedent and adopt a task that I would rather have my husband do... for the rest of our lives, preferably.

Up until this year, I had never touched our snow shovel, either. Again, a man's job. Up until this year, though, our annual snow accumulation was negligible. I first tackled the job as an expression of love and service to my dear husband, who does SO much for our family. Now, it is officially my job. I guess I'm being reprimanded for being chauvinistic.

Really, though, I don't have much to complain about. Half of the time, my kids come out and play through my toil and strife so I don't have to feel like I'm neglecting them. The other half of the time, I have at least one neighbor out there to keep me company (all females, I might add). And, as I've said before, on those days when I've missed my little alarm clock named Rachel who normally wakes me up for my morning workout routine, I feel redeemed for at least getting some form of exercise. Bring it on Mother Nature.