Tomorrow we're making our annual pilgrimage to the Lone Star state. Where it's 80 degrees and sunny. Right now, I'm packing shorts and short-sleeve shirts for the kids while I look out my window at this...
And this...
It's supposed to be about 19 degrees when we leave the house tomorrow morning at 6 AM.
I have a vision of us all wearing our sweaters, hats, gloves and big puffy jackets RIGHT up to the gate at the airport. Where we change into our aloha gear. Oh, the sweet Seattle/Houston dichotomy.
My only hope is that Henry doesn't tell Gramma and Grampa Seward that he can't go outside when we're there because the sun hurts his skin. He said that a few years ago. And I think it didn't make us Northwestners look very tough. Maybe I should send him to the tanning booth this afternoon to get him ready.
JUST KIDDING. That would be wrong, of course. Of course. Right? Plus, we couldn't get there because there's too much snow. For crying out loud.
So what does one do on a snowy afternoon?
My thought today was to play Sorry with a five-year old. I love the game and I thought I'd let him win and that would really make him happy. Except that he didn't just win - he whooped my arse.
We were neck and neck for the better part of an hour. And were both THIS close to winning.
I needed a one.
He needed a three.
Yeah.
Guess what came up first?
That turkey! Here's where I was at the end.
And here's where he was.
And here's his "I'm taking my chips and going home" look. Lovely.
And, Texas, we'll see your sunny face tomorrow.
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