Ali and I enjoyed a dinner out. Always fun to chat, laugh, and laugh again with Ali. (below)
For a month or more I've been looking forward to February 1st: the day Chris and I had scheduled an overnight date. I dreamed of February 1st and it motivated me to get through any rough patches (a shattered plasma TV, a week's worth of illness, a child that vomited smack dab in the middle of Walmart). I imagined spending those hours soaking up alone time with Chris, catching up on months spent as two passing ships.
So, I became extremely distraught when my local weather man starting talking about February 1st. Big storm, I heard. Lots of ice, he predicted. Snow too, he announced. Yet, the internal optimist in me, kept thinking: maybe not.
As days passed, weather predictors unanimously forecasted a storm, and a big one at that. The next few days were predicted to be full of all the good stuff: freezing rain, sheets of ice, frigid temps, and mounds of snow. My carefree dreams began to vanish with every dire report, yet I still held onto a modicum of hope; that is, until today.
Today, I finally faced reality: the trip was not going to happen. The rational side of me realized, in terms of catastrophes, this was minor. On a scale of one to ten calamities, it would land squarely on a one. By the emotional side of me, beginning throwing a private pity party: occupation one.
I spent the rest of the afternoon in a royal funk. I was still a little weepy as I was listening to the boys' bedtime prayers. I heard Connor say, "God, please help all those who don't have a home that they will be protected from the storm."
Ouch. His words softened my heart, and the pity party dispersed. Time to turn lemons into lemonade, I suppose. Or, freezing rain into.........hmmm.