Sorry to be MIA for the last week, but I flew the coop.
I’ve been hanging with my aunt in Georgia.
I attempted to escape the snow, but I wasn’t so lucky. It followed me.
There’s something strange about southern snow though.
It falls – everyone loses power – it melts.
This all seems to happen within twenty-four hours.
I got a little antsy when I woke up to snow and nobody was leaving their house – no tire tracks, not even a footprint. It was like the end of the world had come and I was the lone survivor.
I wanted to stand in the street and yell, “If we all shovel together, we can clear a path to Target!”
I’m pretty sure no one would listen.
So, I grabbed a shovel and got to work myself. My aunt shook her head clucked, “It will be gone by afternoon. You’re working for nothing.”
I didn’t believe her. My gut told me we’d be snowed in for three days if we were going to wait for a plow.
For once, I was happy to be wrong. The gray skies gave way to sunshine and before you could say “melt”, I was heading to Target.
Before I left home, my husband assured me he and the kids would be just fine without me.
“I plan on making a lot of crock-pot meals.” my husband told me.
That’s when I burst out laughing, because despite his sounding like a middle-aged housewife with good intentions, I doubted the execution of these one pot dinners.
That’s why, after I was gone for two whole days, I called my daughter and asked what they had for dinner.
“Raviolis, Chef Boyardee style.”
“But, I thought dad was making crock-pot meals.” I said.
“He put the raviolis in the crock-pot.”
I guess he kept his word. He made lots of crock-pot meals, and then he got tired of cooking and drove down to meet me.
Now, I vote we go out.