That Time The Blizzard Was Coming And I Forgot To Buy Coffee

I think this is where the opening sentence would go, if I… say… actually HAD an opening sentence tonight. I’ve just been sitting here, staring at the laptop’s screen, trying to invent something clever to type.  I guess you could say that my efforts weren’t overly productive, because I just realized that I’ve somehow managed to lose nearly fifteen minutes, and I was mentally writing my PE lesson plans for tomorrow, instead of focusing on topic sentences.

(They’re lesson plans that won’t involve dodgeball, because the post-traumatic stress that I feel from all the dodgeball tattlers and cheaters last week is still too fresh in my mind to revisit.)

(I think we’ll run the mile.)

(Or maybe even a 5K.)

(Running always brings children back around to remembering to play nicely with one another.)

Today has been a cold and icy day.  It was a little hard to take this morning, because last week we went through a spell where the weather resembled the onset of spring.  The daily temperatures kept hovering around 55 degrees.  Kids everywhere were tossing their coats into heaps on playgrounds and running wild in their short sleeves, because FIFTY-FIVE!  I know our Texas counterparts were all hunkering down beneath blankets and building fires in fifty-gallon drums, because FIFTY-FIVE.  The birds were out, whistling and contemplating getting nests started, because Mrs. Robin’s biological clock is ticking.  And then boom.  All of our snow melted in the deliciously warm weather this weekend, which froze overnight when our temperatures plummeted and turned the town into an enormous ice skating rink.  The snow arrived mid-morning today, and suddenly Mrs. Robin’s biological clock was telling her she was late for Florida, and that kids could wait.

My biological clock was telling me that, too, as I struggled to push a heavy shopping cart through the rising slop and slush in Walmart’s parking lot, while Thing 2 hollered out his frustrations at having just spent what felt like his entire, formative preschool years strapped into a cart and being told NO!  WE ARE NOT GETTING DONUTS TODAY!  STOP ASKING ME!! approximately four hundred and seventeen times.

Afterward, I had to haul all those groceries inside, in the sloppy snow and the cold.  It’s why Florid was looking powerfully delicious by lunchtime today.

Thankfully, I feel like if this snowstorm turns into the Great Blizzard of ’16, we have enough milk and Keurig coffee packs to last us four entire days.  That would be because my boys drink milk like 400-pound baby calves, and I forgot to buy coffee.  Apparently, all those years I spent in front of Little House on the Prairie after school did nothing to prepare me for heavy snowfall.  Everyone else in Small Town must’ve sat up straight and taken notes when Pa and Ma Ingalls endured the blizzards, because every! single! person! (except for Hubs) was in the supercenter, buying candles and batteries and milk and eggs, and LOOK!  DOES THIS STORE REALLY NOT HAVE THE LIFE-SUSTAINING STAPLE OF INDIVIDUALLY-SIZED KRAFT MAC AND CHEESE CUPS?!  It was true.  There were no “regular noodle” cups to be found.  If I wanted noodles shaped like SpongeBob Squarepants, I was in business.  The only issue with that is the simple fact that my preschooler will not eat noodles that aren’t regular noodles.  SpongeBob noodles and Star Wars noodles and any other noodle novelty will immediately send him into a tailspin that cannot be recovered from… never mind that it’s the exact same recipe, and shape is the only thing separating the cartoon mac and cheese from the generic mac and cheese.

Thing 2 is going to have to knuckle down and survive this blizzard without Kraft’s orange-powdered superfood on his plate.

Hello, food with actual nutrients. 

After Thing 2 and I were back home and unpacked from our grocery-fetching trip, I whipped up a batch of homemade chili and stuffed it into the crockpot.  Nothing feeds the soul at the end of a cold and icy, blizzardy day like your mama’s secret chili recipe.  Also, nothing makes me feel more organized than having dinner inside of a crockpot when 5 PM rolls around.  I feel like I’m a starting center on the All-Star Housewife Team.  June Cleaver would be so proud.

Thankfully, I have one TV Land mother on my side, as Caroline Ingalls is simply shaking her head back and forth with a frown, quietly asking, “How long do you think you can survive without Keurig coffee?  Did I teach you nothing?  Do you not remember how Charles had to tie a rope around his waist to get from the house to the barn, so that he could find his way back in the raging snowstorm?  And do you not remember how we nearly ran out of food?”

Y’all have a fantastic evening.  Stay warm.

And may your pantry be filled with enough coffee to sustain you through this winter storm watch.

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