Make sure to look at every weather prediction possible to tap into the full sense of hysteria. And then curse like Yosemite Sam when you realize this storm will in fact mean your three children will be home from school (again) for many unexpected days in a row. Consider finding the superintendent's house and making a personal plea but ultimately dismiss it as too much work and the fact that no one looks good in mug shots, especially flashed up on the tv screen as yours would certainly be if you did confront the man in person. And restraining orders are so restrictive.
Concede that your policy of going to the grocery store almost daily will mean you too have to brave the frantic hordes at the grocery store. Shake your head and chuckle at the barren bread, egg, and milk shelves but curse like Yosemite Sam when you discover that there's no cumin because apparently everyone has had the same bright idea about chili that you did.
Blow up the air mattress and lay in new flashlights and batteries in case of the predicted power outage that requires you to sleep as a family in front of the rather ineffectual gas fire. Curse like Yosemite Sam when you can't find the key to turn on said ineffectual fire.
Settle in as snow comes down and down and down. Admire how pretty it looks, especially since snow only lasts for a day in the south. Curse like Yosemite Sam when it is still coming down two days later.
Send the stir crazy children out to play in the snow despite the lack of weather appropriate gear. Apologize profusely to a neighbor who has trudged through the snow looking for a can of condensed milk. Instead offer her the choice of some books to take home to read in case the power goes out (ice is now predicted on top of the snow) and her Kindle is non-functional. Smile happily as she loads up for the remainder of the week and then turn attention back to children gamboling in snow and apparently wearing your old winter weather gear. Curse like Yosemite Sam when you see how wet and disgusting they've gotten all of your things, ensuring you can't leave the house unless you enjoy being frozen and wet.
Do laundry. Do more laundry. Do even more laundry, rushing to get it all finished before the power dies. Curse like Yosemite Sam when you find yet another soggy pile of clothing deposited in a lump by the washer just when you thought you were finished.
Spend a lot of time flitting from book to book, being unable to settle into one. Feel dissatisfied with the book options available to you (all 10,000 plus) and waft around the house feeling trapped. Find other things to do to stay occupied that aren't reading and curse like Yosemite Sam that your best and favorite pastime has deserted you when you need it most.
Shovel the driveway so that you can make a break for it as soon as the roads are even close to clear. Bribe children, who are by now bored with the snow, to help you. Curse like Yosemite Sam when you wake up the next morning and can barely move for being sore.
Realize that you've done nothing for your husband for Valentine's Day and that you just can't muster up the oomph to care. Feel guilty when he presents you with a crème brulee making set (kitchen torch, butane, ramekins) and feel badly for him that the rest of his presents (a crème brulee cookbook and bouquet of tulips) are trapped somewhere on a UPS truck and he's having no luck tracking them down. Both of you curse like Yosemite Sam at "Brown."
Decide to brave the roads as chocolate stash is gone and toilet paper stash is getting dangerously low. Almost get sideswiped by a woman who thinks that because there is still some snow on the ground, staying in her own lane on a turn is completely optional and she's welcome to come into yours to avoid the small ridge of snow in hers. Curse like Yosemite Sam and lay on the weenie horn in your car for emphasis to make your point.
Email the teacher who had requested a conference about your child and ask her what to do about the meeting you all carefully scheduled for Friday so as to avoid the bad weather in the middle of the week. Have her come back and offer to meet you at 6:30 am before school next week. Do not curse like Yosemite Sam; do it up properly and turn the air positively blue with curses that would make a sailor blush but agree to rescheduled meeting.
And finally curse some more when you remember that these three snow days this week mean not only no President's Day long weekend but have now carved two days off of Spring Break as well.
Now that the snow is gone from the roads and only hanging around in patches (like my shady yard), I have one final thing left to do as a result of this unlikely Southern snowstorm. I feel the need to visit a bookstore to remedy the unsatisfying choice problem at my house. Maybe I'll look for a book on cursing.
If you were trapped (or still are trapped) at home by snow, how did you spend your week?