We debated making the trip. I'm not sleeping great anyway, so being away from my own bed wasn't super appealing. And there was busyness at work. And there was the baby-could-come-anytime-and-no-one-liked-the-idea-of-making-the-two-hour-trip-home-with-Meryl-in-labor thing.
But my Nice-In-Laws were hosting a big lobster potluck and I hadn't seen my mom or sister since late summer, so I just sort of made up my mind that we were going to make last weekend's quick two-nighter to visit family happen, come what may.
The lobster on Friday night was fun, but I really knew we'd made the right decision when I woke up on Saturday morning.
The Kid and two of his little second cousins had all arisen with the dawn, and the grown-ups were trying their best to keep them quiet so that I could sleep in if I wanted. It was an utterly lost cause, but I didn't care a bit. It was the coziest I've been in forever, snuggled under about four quilts, listening to the giggles and small feet running up and down the hall.
And then, Sunday morning, when the first of them stopped playing long enough to look out the window and notice that it was snowing--the Kid was jumping up and down so excitedly that I almost couldn't get him out of his pajamas. "It's snowing! It's snowing! I can't believe it, it's snowing!"
Even though it was less of a surprise to me--I'd checked the weather ahead of time--I thought it was pretty cool myself. The bustle of bundling them up and sending them out to play and watching the fat, flakes fall through the window put me in a better place than two days of unbroken sleep would have.