When I hear the word "blizzard" I automatically think about Laura Ingalls Wilder and her book The Long Winter. Blizzards every 3 days for like 8 months straight. No trains bringing food, eating only brown bread and tea all winter, making sticks out of hay to burn in the stove for heat. People dying 2 feet away from home because you can't see even one inch in front of your face? Obviously, blizzards totally suck.
So thankfully we have central heating and plenty to eat other than just bread. But we have officially spent almost all of blizzard day cuddled in blankets, eating soup, and watching in horror at the wind and snow swirling outside. By we, I mean Connor and I. Nick went to work, but not before I fretted over his safety in driving out in the storm. He looked at me like I was a total lunatic. This happens mostly when we momentarily forget that he lived in upstate New York and was stationed in Kosovo, and I have only lived in Southern California and Phoenix. He needs to remember that snow terrifies me and I need to remember that he isn't, well...me.
I can't believe the people I have been watching outside my window all day. Barely able to walk into the wind, bundled up in a fur-lined parka all to throw out a bag of garbage? I won't risk my life that way. Nick can take out the garbage when he gets home.
We did laundry today and made peanut butter bon-bons, so obviously it's been a very productive day.
At least Connor thinks so:
This was post bon-bon making. Dipping 5 dozen little balls into chocolate gets old after awhile, by the way. It takes forever. I really thought Connor would love licking chocolate off his fingers and he did for a few minutes. Then he was all freaked out over his dirty hands:
Thank God, by late afternoon the storm had mostly stopped. I didn't have to worry about Nick driving home from work. Can we move to Texas now?
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