Nicole feels

I want to be a meteorologist.

I believe it is perhaps the only job where you can be wrong approximately 80% of the time and still keep your job. And people still listen to you.

And they call what you do science.

Go figure.

A snowstorm was in our forecast, predicted to be large enough to muddle the morning commute with blowing snow and butt-freezing temps. I got up at my usual time and looked outside. It was snowing lightly, but no real precip on the ground at that point. I checked the closings report, and Kaytlin and Nathan�s school district had already called off classes in anticipation of the full force of winter�s fury. Parker�s indicated an hour delay.

Okay, I can rack up at least an hour more of sleep�

I tumbled out of bed a little later, once again checking the lawn. Still pretty brown with but a sprinkling of white here and there. By this point, Parker�s school was called off as well.

I am not one to complain about a day off, so I headed back to my down comforter. When I finally lumbered out of bed at about 9:30, I once again checked the scene outside my window. It had not changed. And it wasn�t snowing anymore.

And the weather man�s explanation as to why we didn�t get the forecast 6 or more inches? �It was snowing alright, the atmosphere was just so dry that it never hit the ground.�

Mmmmmm�.�kay.

So, the kids get a day off now and an extra day in May. Kaytlin�s Dare graduation is postponed and I get to make French toast for the crew on big, soft pieces of Texas toast.

I suppose it is good that the schools were cautious and cancelled classes. But the terms �forecast� and �predict� seem to equate �gospel� and �will happen� in the weather realm.

I want to be a meteorologist.