Last weekend Atlanta was warned to stock up. Kim and the kids wanted it to snow.

When we were growing up, that kind of news was thrilling. We’d tuck ourselves under the covers. Waking up to the last-minute holiday, Dad would wrap our shoes in plastic sandwich bags and secure them with rubber bands. We’d sled on pieces of cardboard from the top of the high cul-de-sac.

Kim texted. As Mom said, a “nothing burger.” I went back to lacing up my boots.