So last night, all the news stations were abuzz over the winter storm preparing to barrel through the state, and some forecasters, and I'm not saying who, resulted to the sort of hyperbole that borders on cruel. "Seven to ten inches expected in the Albuquerque area."

Here's the thing about Albuquerque. Only once in Adam's life has the snow piled up higher than four inches. Only once in his life did he have to shovel a path to the tree for the dog. Meanwhile in Ruidoso, I was scoffing at anything below eighteen inches. Well, not so much "scoffing" as "petitioning God to please up that ante, because I have a math test tomorrow and I didn't study." (He came through a couple of times, too!) What I'm trying to say is that ten inches of snow isn't that exciting.

But if you're a kid who grew up in Albuquerque and suddenly the trusted weatherman's throwing around feet rather than inches to measure this supposed snow storm, and it's a week before Christmas, you'd probably get your hopes up too. "Oh, boy! Ten inches!"

When I got up at seven, everything was cloud-covered but still brown. Forty-five minutes later, and it began sleeting, with just enough actual flakes mixed in to cover everything in a fine powder of white. Then it stopped again. Then it started melting off.

The poor kid's been moping around the house, his hopes dashed.

National Weather Service is predicting two to four inches today, with another inch tonight. It would only be half, but it would be enough for Albuquerque. Seriously. I'm already dreading the commute on Paseo today.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.