Come to my window

It's not the first snow of the year, but it's the first hard-core snow of the year, calling for serious plowing, and sanding, and my ass staying-home-ing. I fucking love snow days; they are the only reason that all this powder is acceptable. (Okay, and it's kind of pretty.) They make the most minor accomplishments -- clearing your driveway, walking to the store -- monumental. And deserving of hot chocolate. With marshmallows. And then you curl up with your Red Sox 2004 World Champions lap throw and a book (or some episodes of Everwood), and all is right with the world.

(Speaking of my boys, all the trading is driving me crazy. Edgah's history; so is Dougie (what the hell is Wake going to do now?). And why do they keep piling on the third basemen? They got Lowell, now Marte, and they offered arbitration to my boy Billy. Clearly, they need to hang on to Mueller because he's the cutest, and I love him. And if they trade away all my boys, I'm going to cry. Good thing I've got my blankie or I'd get really upset.)