This weekend, we were forced to rest by way of icy roads and the fact that there are just about -5 snowplows for all of the south. I secretly love occasions that force me to rest, because choosing to rest is so. much. harder. I don’t know why that is, but I’m fairly certain it’s a universal thing. Anyway, we stayed indoors for most of Friday and Saturday, leaving only to relieve the dogs, walk to our favorite coffee shop, and crunch through the ice a bit. It was incredibly satisfying, that crunch.
I made a pan of rice krispy treats and a batch of The Pioneer Woman’s cinnamon rolls (small batch recipe here, if you’re not feeding tons of cowboys), so our sugar high lasted all weekend long. When it comes to snow days, we have a very “no rules apply” tradition. I just realized this weekend that it’s probably something we’ll keep going when we have kids, which makes it all the more fun. We turn into kids ourselves once the world turns white with fresh snow. This comes from both of us growing up in Florida, a state that has one season. Snow, to me, is magic.
It was a really great weekend. Now, as I sit by a window I have propped open to air out the last few days of being forced shut and listen to the world melt outside my window, I’m wishing the flakes were still falling and my favorite dude was hanging out with me instead of being at work. Mondays and I will reconcile our feelings someday. Until then, please pass the coffee.