I woke at the ungodly hour of 7 a.m. (what — I make no apologies) to the sound of my husband yelling, “Yeah, well we’re supposed to get in excess of 70 mph winds here. I think we’ll be alright.”
Hubby was talking to his grandmother, who called to let us know that she was praying for two things: (1) That we’d be safe and (2) that we would get a little rain out of it all.
Thanks, G’ma Edie. I think the rain part will be covered.
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Later, but not “late” enough, the Little Lady woke up in a crabby mood. I was crabby too so we made a great pair as we headed down the stairs. It was clear that a bottle and Backyardigans were in order.
It’s not Sausage Casing Day!
Hubby walked through about this time, drill in hand from screwing plywood, and was instantly drawn to the tv. Seriously, it’s like a homing device for the guy.
A couple of minutes went by.
“Oh,” he mumbled, shaking his head as if trying to wake up from a dream, “I’ve seen this one.”
And that, my friends, was the ONLY reason why DH went back to his hurricane preparation duties.
