On Saturday morning, I appreciated sleeping until I was rested which happened to be 7:55. That's late for me, and I know that will be really late when this baby comes. The sun was beaming through our curtains, and I knew it would be a beautiful day.
I picked up the latest copy of Southern Living and ate some grits on the sofa. It was the perfect way to spend the morning.
We did things around the house, I walked the lakes with a sweet friend, Andrew played golf with my dad, and we ate seafood for dinner. Sunday came too quickly, but we enjoyed our church service anyway. I was craving a sno ball, as we call it in south Louisiana, and so we found a sno ball stand nearby. I asked Andrew if he wanted condensed milk on his, and he looked at me like I was out of my mind.
Are we still discovering the differences in our speech and childhood? I thought we had discovered them all, moved past them, and had everything on the same page. But no.
He tried his blackberry sno ball with condensed milk and thought it to be okay. Meanwhile, I thoroughly enjoyed a peach sno ball with loads of condensed milk.
At least he finally understands me when I ask him if he wants to roday around Cabela's.
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