Nor'easter

Friday night:

Kathryn: “Crap. It’s gonna snow. I’m tired. I don’t wanna go to the market AGAIN.”

Connor (12): “So, don’t go. We’ll survive…we’re men…we’re strong. We won’t report you to anyone for not feeding us. If I faint from hunger, just throw a pillow under my head. I’ll be fine.”

Clinton Kelly (My logical, un-stoppable IV…rolling his baby blues): “I wonder where they get this inherent drama...did you buy cheese?”

Taylor (17): “Did someone mention food? Is there anything to eat?”

Kathryn: (Sighs) “I’ll go tomorrow.”

Connor: “I thought you said it was gonna snow tomorrow. You don’t drive in the snow…everyone knows that. Even people who don’t know you know that.”

Kathryn: “I know that. I’ll go in the morning…before it starts. Plenty of time. Is anyone coming with me?”

Taylor: “No. I’ve got a sore throat.”

Connor: “No. I’m planning on sleeping till the afternoon. My resistance is low. I may be getting what he has.”

Clinton: “Can't go….I’ve got work.”

Kathryn: (Squints eyes) “Um. Clinton?” (Taps side of her head with pointer finger)

Clinton: “Riiiight. Dammit.”

(Late) Saturday morning:

Kathryn: “Well, they’re still predicting that stupid snow.”

Connor: “Why does it have to snow on the weekend? Why can’t it snow during school?”

Taylor: “I’m hungry…there’s nothing good to eat in this house.”

Clinton: “My throat’s feeling kinda sore…”

Kathryn: “Clinton. Let’s go.”

Clinton: “Crap.”

Driving…driving…driving. Tons of traffic…tons of people…everyone looks freakin’ miserable. No-one’s saying "excuse me" or "thank you"…no Salvation Army guy ringing the bell and wishing everyone Happy Holidays…no empty parking spots within a 5-mile radius of the store. Temperature reads 22…with the wind chill, it feels like about 7. Salvation-Army-guy’s not stupid…he’d probably like to get through one Christmas without nursing a serious case of frostbite.

Kathryn: “We’re just getting the basics…you know, milk…bread, eggs.”

Clinton: “…and...'Columbia'? Evidently, we’ve had a request for a foreign country. Is this Connor's handwriting on the list?”

Kathryn: (Takes in the chaotic scene before her: the endless lines of people…carts overflowing with items, aisles so jammed with customers they’re almost impassable. A look of alarm is dawning on her face) “WTF? We have no time to shop for a country! OH MY GOD! We need MILK! We need ONIONS! Do we have enough of those SWIFFER DUST-THINGIES? What if we have UNEXPECTED COMPANY and I NEED TO DUST? What if I want to make BREAD PUDDING? I don't know HOW to MAKE bread pudding! HOW do I know what's EVEN IN bread pudding?!? Do they sell COOK BOOKS?” (Begins to hyperventilate) “What if we LOSE POWER AGAIN? Remember sitting in the dark, trying to play cards with 2 sets of gloves on and eating a can of baked beans that we tried to heat up with one of those toe warmer packets? I don’t want to go back there again, Clinton! PLEASE don’t make me go back there!”

Clinton: “Calm down. We’ll split up…you get the Townhouse crackers and I’ll get the cheese and some firewood. Ask that nice checkout lady if she can spare a bag for you to breathe into so you don’t pass out. I’m afraid people will just step over you in this riot.”

45 minutes later…cart overflowing with every conceivably-possible imaginably-feasible household food item, we trek through the parking lot and load up the car.

Here’s a view from the end of my street:

It's a testament to bone-chilling, life-threatening, mind-numbing cold. It's not beautiful...it's freakin' scaring the crap out of me.

Upon arriving home, I call down da boys to help unload.

Kathryn: (to Connor) “I couldn’t get you your Ecuador, dear. Maybe I’ll buy you a country for Christmas.”

Connor: “What?” (Searches through bags.) “Didn’t they have my Columbia?”

Kathryn: “Well, sweetie. I’m sure its citizens feel that Columbia belongs to all the people…not just you. What happened to Ecuador?”

Connor: “What? I don’t know! I don’t care about Ecuador! We haven’t studied that yet. I just want my yogurt!”

Clinton: “Ohhhhh…..I think he meant ‘Columbo’.”