I started dreading it last Monday.

That's when all the weather reporters started predicting weekend snow.

Snow - that four-letter word that strikes panic in the heart of every Southerner.

Of course, the mere mention of the word made my child squeal with delight.

"I hope it will be enough for me to sled!" he said as we watched the news one night.

The idea of snow is fun to a child.

I realized I had become an official adult the day I groaned and muttered cuss words when I heard the meteorologist tell us to get ready.

As an adult, snow is not fun.

It is a slushy mess of frigid inconvenience that I would rather do without.

It can mean icy roads and in worst case scenarios, no power.

Not to mention it meant everyone would make a run on the grocery store for milk and bread.

Coming off the holidays, we legitimately needed to go to the grocery store.

"We better go on Wednesday," I said.

"Why Wednesday?" Cole inquired.

"Because Thursday, everyone and their brother will be in there and Friday will really be a nightmare."

Even on Wednesday, the stores were packed, but the bread shelves were full.

That was all different a few hours later as images began to come in via Facebook, showing a sole loaf left on the shelf.

"Good thing we went when we did," Cole said.

Thursday we anxiously waited to see if the forecast had changed.

"I'm believing it's going to miss us," Lamar said.

"I'm believing we have snow for a week!" Cole exclaimed.

I knew we were going to get something, but I just wasn't sure how much or how bad it would be. It was that feeling in my bones that Granny used to get on the rare occurrences we got snow.

One lasted a week and Mama ended up being snowed in at work.

Another blizzard happened a few days after a tornado in ‘93 - or as Granny called it, "Typical Georgia weather."

I prayed for it to not snow like some men pray for Super Bowl outcomes.

All day Friday, we waited.

And waited.

"When will it snow?" Cole wanted to know anxiously.

We had about 20 minutes of wintry mix, which delighted Cole.

He was sorely disappointed when it ended.

"Awww...man.....and I got my sled out of the barn...."

We kept looking out the windows, wondering what was going to happen.

"I hope there's no ice," Lamar said.

"As long as we don't lose power, I will be OK," I said.

I couldn't be trapped inside for days without Netflix.

Heck, we weren't even snowed in and everyone was getting antsy.

Lamar and Cole were making noise, the dogs were getting riled up.

We already had cabin fever and we could leave.

Later that evening, snow started falling, big, fluffy flakes.

We woke on Saturday to the serene scene of a yard blanketed by snowfall that yes, did have a magical quality to it.

I spent most of the day trying to keep my child warm and inside and pacifying dogs who did not like him sledding.

By 4, a lot of the white stuff was melting out back.

"Melt, melt, melt, melt!" I chanted.

"You are crushing my dreams," Cole told me.

"How's that?" I asked.

"I want it to last longer."

"I'm ready for it to be gone."

My child did not understand.

"But, Mama, it's snow!"

Yeah, I know.

It was four inches of snow and thankfully, it was starting to melt.

We just had to get through a few days of inhumane cold temps and then, in typical Georgia weather fashion, we'd be back to temperatures in the 60s again.

We survived, save for some bad cabin fever, the Snowpocalpyse of 2017.

And thankfully, the dreading it was the worst part.

Sudie Crouch is an award winning humor columnist and author of the novel, "The Dahlman Files: A Tony Dahlman Paranormal Mystery."