Let's Ignore Some Travel Advisories

4:48AM: The rattle of ice on windows.

Much later: snores from the other room indicated that El Oso would still be out for awhile. Church had already been canceled for over 12 hours. So I fed the cat and flipped on a sermon about hell.

Puck opened Rose’s door, face plastered in the remains of Edy’s all fruit bar popcicles (a Rose staple), circa grape. Ring pop on finger. Pouting because he couldn’t make the jump in whatever video game was playing on the Xbox. Life at Rose’s was a world reserved for decadence and debauchery of every category in the six year-old life.

We lunched on Jimmy John’s at Grandma Snicketts’ old kitchen table and swivel chairs, Puck still in his jams. Rose declined the offer to be bussed out to the Big House for the afternoon. Probably hoping for a nap after Puckapalooza: March 2014.

A slick set of miles back to the Big House produced a little baseball, some talk about fried chicken, and more boxes of Girl Scout cookies, polished off in literal minutes. I’m not sure if it’s like that everywhere else around the country, but they tend to be fanatically popular in this corner.

Francis and Irish drove out to pick up some KFC. Joe was already soliciting participants in donuts (of a vehicular-induced persuasion) and whathaveyou up at the school parking lot, or the slickest untouched surface available.

With two bowls of fried chicken on the table, homemade mac and cheese, and sliced canned cranberries, I wasn’t sure just what we were celebrating this time, exactly. Then most of the meal centered around teasing a particular family member who was apparently unaware that New Orleans was not, in fact, a state:

“Are you serious about that? Think it through now. Think it through. Take deeeep breaths.”

Never mind that the other family member mocking original said family member thought New Orleans was located in Mississippi. Sometimes all that intense map memorization in junior high doesn’t – ultimately – pay off. Snuggles and Pumpkin watched this not atypical conversation from Rose’s vacant seat on the bench: two pairs of yellow eyeballs keeping tabs on the chicken activity. Dad and Carrie, their seating buddies, had pity on them halfway through.

We left before dark, hoping to stay off the icy streets after the sun left us, which was nothing to begin with under gray sheets all day. This left the rest of the family to consider watching “Gravity,” which Francis somehow thought would be an appropriate movie for a First Grader.

So we left a little early: passed Joe and Irish spinning donuts in the school parking lot. Got home a little early: Simon’s Cat, hot tea for El Oso, quiet frosty streets. While Crackers attacked Saturday’s mail.