Having made it home just before no one was going to ever make it home and they are still not home.
Well, not so much of a whomp as a plop, but it’s looking like a white Christmas.
Yes, Chuck. I remember what it was like to Christmas shop in flip-flops in LA. I feel your pain.
On the drive to bring someone a warm meal, several long hugs and some company for hours of ugly crying.
That massive cold front is for real so not kidding.
The sight and sound of the months ahead.
Oh yes, we are so festive up in this dancery.
Never has sixty degrees Fahrenheit felt so glorious.
What the winter didn’t break.
If my children’s hair were a tree.