I Hate Winter

    

      I HATE winter, and I mean HATE, as in punch me in the face and wake me when it’s spring kind of HATE.  The snow, the cold weather gear, the 24/7 THO’s, it’s all a total pain in the ass.  I’d rather chill with the bears and hibernate right through the whole friggin’ season. So you can probably imagine then how thrilled I was yesterday morning to look out the window and see that white powdery crap covering every damn thing in sight.

     The first obstacle of the day came in the form of a furry little freakshow who was soooo mesmerized by his first taste of snow, that all he wanted to do was to play.  He didn’t seem to understand that I was standing there freezing my tatas off or that I had all kinds of shit to do inside.  He just wanted to run and jump and flip and flop and do everything under the moon BUT actually pee or poop.  I had to run him outside five flipping times before he finally put two and two together and realized that yes, he was supposed to drop a steaming loaf right there on top of all that white stuff.

     Then I had to deal with another obstacle that comes with kids and winter weather — the fifty layers of protective gear.  I swear getting the short people ready for school in the winter months is like getting them ready to go into battle.  It takes F-O-R-E-V-E-R to get all that stuff buttoned and snapped and zippered and velcroed.  (Have I mentioned that I HATE winter?)  We were clearly out of practice yesterday morning, because we were running even further behind than normal.  By the time we got all bundled up and raced out the door, all of the other neighborhood kids were WAY ahead of us on the walk to school.  

     You would think that my kids would’ve sensed the urgency in my voice that we needed to kick it into high gear and bust a move to school, but oh no.  They were way too busy making snowballs and chucking them at one another.  And this was obstacle number three in “Operation Get The Kids To School And Out Of My Freaking Hair.” After some serious bribing, a little bit of torture, and a whole lot of threatening, we picked up the pace and started making our way towards school.  We got about a block away from our house before my daughter decided to do a dive bomb right into the snow, thereby soaking her dress that she’d failed to tuck into her snow pants.  I felt the blood boiling in my veins as I made a silent promise to kick Mother Nature’s ass when I had a chance.  (Have I mentioned that I HATE winter?)  We rushed back to the house, switched out her dress and practically ran the rest of the way to school.  

     To think that I’ve got a good four or so months of this winter wickedness yet to go makes me absolutely sick to my stomach.  It was bad enough trying to juggle my kids and their messy boots, but now I’ve also got the dog and his messy paws to contend with.  Santa better be putting some extra patience in my stocking or at least a flask or ten of vodka if I’m gonna be able to stick it out for the long haul.  Have I mentioned that I truly HATE winter?