Oh, hell. It's snowing.

I never thought, in a million years, that those words would come out of my mouth. Well, maybe like, "Oh hell yes, y'all! It's snowin' outside!" but never in the curmudgeonly way it was uttered as Harper and I left Target this morning.

See, tomorrow is Brandon's department Christmas party and he's I'm in charge of decorations, thus Harp and I found ourselves scouring shelves at 8 a.m. with a budget tighter than... the thin, snow-inappropriate yoga pants I was wearing.

With one stop down, two to go and a cart full of paper plates, cups and utensils (in the decorating budget....? I digress.), Harper shouted orders from the helm of our red chariot as we dashed out into an unexpected, positively beautiful, quiet, Christmasy snowfall.

Dread swept over me.

Before Harper and after two winters in Milwaukee, I would have easily braved a slick and icy Rockville Pike for paper tablecloths. . . but now I have precious cargo and I mentally kicked rocks as I realized our errands were over for the day.

After we carefully navigated the slick parking lot and siege of blind, old-lady drivers who only decide to drive during hazardous road conditions, I began unloading our supplies and noticed that, since we walked outside, Harper had been absolutely silent (a pure rarity, as just minutes ago, she loudly bid each and every employee and customer "bye!").

Just then, my petite, blankie-wielding cherub delivered the powerful kick in the pants I so dearly needed:

 As I hustled the last of our things into the trunk, she looked up, held out her hands to catch snow flakes and contentedly said, "Ohhhhh.. Nice."