Ahhhh, is there anything more gratifying than a full, piping hot cup of coffee, a fully charged laptop and a blanket of snow outside the window? I think not, people.
So yesterday at about 4 p.m. we actually started to get some more of the white stuff---when there is frozen participation falling from the sky outside a southern office building, well it's a hilarious site. Well-educated business-types clammer over to the window in their high-heeled pumps just to get a glimpse. Add to that the excitement over the fact that it was Friday afternoon, and you've got yourself a totally giddy atmosphere.
Last night happened to be the night that Hubs was an overnight host for Room In The Inn at our church, a program that takes in overflow from the men's shelter uptown and puts them up in church basements and such. It's usually a good time, he enjoys listening to the men's stories and sharing some of his own, and the other church volunteers feed everyone well. But when the snow continued to pile up the kids and I were a little concerned about how Daddy would get home in the morning.
I tried to keep everyone distracted, making popcorn ordering up a rare pay-for-view movie (Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs) and breaking out the Valentine's cookies a couple days early. After the movie, though, Nate was still fretfully looking out the window, asking if we could just go get Daddy. Poor kid. No matter how much he might be a total "mini-me" of his dad on the outside, on the inside he's a natural-born hand-wringer like his mom.
Eventually everyone settled down and we watched the opening ceremonies of the Winter Olympics. The kids were pretty enthralled with the Parade of Nations, but then poor Liv, who has yet another cold, drifted off early. The power started flickering a little before the lighting of the torch and we ended up tromping upstairs to my room, huddling with flashlights and books. We had our own sleepover, with me sandwiched between Kicks-a-lot and Snory, respectively.
This morning I started making breakfast at around 7, and got to hear "Naaaate! Mom's making her famous doughnuts!!" Heh. Funny thing is, she KNOWS they're made with canned biscuit dough, but I still get all the credit. Eight-year-olds rock.
Hubs burst through the door just as we were shaking the cinnamon sugar onto the fried wads of dough. He was bearing some leftover breakfast casserole and snow-crusted boots. Our boy climbed him like a tree.
I checked on Jimmy and Dad last night and Jimmy assured me they were fine, albeit a little stir-crazy like the rest of us. Hopefully the roads'll improve later so I can run to the drug store for him and bring Dad our Valentine's gift of chocolate cherries (his fave) and some cards the kids made.
Oh, and those dang roads better also improve so I can get to Deejai Thai tonight. Mama needs some coconut curry shrimp!