I’ve never done this before, but in the snow on the way back from the kids’ Waffle House this morning, we stopped for milk. And Cokes. And hot chocolate. And a huge store-bought lasagna and already-made garlic bread. (We had plenty of beer already.)
And all I’ve done for the past four hours is mull cider, clean up after spilt hot chocolate, cook grilled cheese sandwiches, provide socks for gloves, put wet clothes in the dryer and find dry ones for an endless stream of 11-year-old and 14-year-old boys.
It could be worse. I could have girls.