The Seventy-Sixth Day of Winter

We arrived back in Madison to more snow fall. Not heavy, mind you, but still it is cold white stuff falling from the sky.

SOS (stuck in class) was worried about me driving home after pulling an all-nighter traveling with two young children, so he suggests I call a taxi to get us home.

Waiting for our last flight, I spotted this pilot come around and dust snow off the front of this plane with his bare hands. Obviously, he is not based out of a city that gets snow.
I'm warm enough from carrying all of our things (and children) off of the plane that I don't bother to put my jacket on before I strap carseats into the cab. The taxi driver stands by, since he has no experience with these things, and I try to encourage my beyond-tired two year old not to be scared of this car that is not ours.

On the drive home, the cab driver complains about the fair weather and how he had been hoping for more snow and cold because then he would have had a good day for business. As it is, he's decided my ride is the last for his day. He finishes out our drive complaining about government, politics, and religion.

We pull up to the stairs leading from the parking lot to the sidewalk in front of our complex, and the bottom step is four or five inches under slushy.

The cab driver has already mentioned he can't carry stuff inside because that would leave his vehicle too vulnerable. When he sees the puddle of slush, he points out that his shoes are not at all appropriate for the weather and so can't even get my things to the sidewalk.

The mother in me thinks, "Well, whose fault is that?" And the tired traveler in me thinks, "This is your last drop-off for the day. Surely you can get your sneakers a little wet for the cause of service."

But I say neither, instead I step in that puddle of slush nearly a dozen times as I carry baggage, car seats, and children through the falling snow.

I still tip the driver well, though. I can be the bigger person. After all, I'm the one who just flew in from California.