Snow Days, Ushanka Nights

On Sunday, we had our first snow of the season.

But snow, as you know, is a mixed blessing. Particularly in this house.Because while snow means sledding and snowmen and hot chocolate and no school, it also means something else. Something I always manage to forget each year until my husband comes downstairs for work, dressed in his snow coverage finest. He wears his waterproof boots and his boiled wool sweater and his microfleece-lined gloves and his warmest, puffiest coat.

And he never, ever forgets to wear his ushanka.

“Oh no,” I groaned when I saw it in his hands yesterday morning. “I thought we’d talked about this last year.”

“I always wear my ushanka when it snows,” Hubs said firmly. “I have for 18 years now.”

“At least get a new one,” I begged. “Something happened to that one. I think it might have shrunk in the wash. It’s just not the same anymore.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Hubs said. Early in our marriage, I would have pushed the issue, but ten years together has taught me when it’s best to say no more. This was one of those times.

I did think it was fair, however, to let the city know what was coming.

And so I can only hope viewers were pyschologically prepared when, at 5:00 last night, this appeared on television screens across Middle Tennessee…

Stop. Ushanka time.

“I got three e-mails about my hat,” Hubs announced proudly when he got home from work, his ushanka still sitting atop his head like an elderly, drugged cat. “They were all from men wanting to know where I got it.”

And I’m not afraid to use it.

We’re due for a visit to see the in-laws soon and I’ve found this works quite well as a nightshirt….