I hate the cold. Not just this year with it’s unholy blasts of arctic winds, but every year. It is a standing joke among my family and friends that I “stop going out in November and stay in until May”
This isn’t far from the truth.
When I have little ones here, I don’t go out. Because I don’t drive, it is a pain in the ass to dress them in layer upon layer only for them to cry about having to pee or crying because their diaper has suddenly filled with shit. Then I have to peel them out of those clothes to remedy those situations. Sometimes young moms forget that their kids aren’t going to be in their stifling hot cars all day and they will need a coat or a hat or gloves. (Yes, I have had kids dropped off in blanket sleepers, a onesie and little else…in January)
I hate the ice. If it is icy, I am afraid of falling while out walking. You see, my middle name is not Grace so this is more than just a possibility. I have broken more than a few bones in my life and I am fearful of slipping and breaking a wrist or ankle.
I hate the wind. Because of my back, if my shirt isn’t tucked into my jeans, I risk having a stray breeze blowing up into my jacket and causing spasms in my lower back. They can make me stand still on the sidewalk gasping to catch my breath in their intensity.
Yet there is something exhilarating about feeling a crisp wind blowing redness into my cheeks. To borrow a phrase from Fantastagirl‘s daughter Tink, “my boogers will freeze”….or at least the nose hairs will. I like sweeping snow from my steps and the front walkway. (Not shoveling….sweeping!) I love the feeling of snowflakes falling gently on my face. I love the muffled silence that it brings.
The cold also means snuggling up in fluffy jammies or cozy sweats under a crocheted blanket on the couch. It means a mug of hot cocoa with the little marshmallows melting on the top. It means the smell of a nice stew or a pot of soup cooking on the stove for dinner.
It is the second part of my feelings that I must keep secret, hidden from my family. If they knew that I liked sweeping the snow, it would become my new job. If they knew that I liked lying on the couch, they would stop believing me when I say that I’m only lying there because I have a headache or cramps. (teehee)
Just don’t tell anyone, ‘kay?