Heat

I need heat.

It's like a drug. I'm in withdrawal. I need heat.

Clearly, this girl has not yet hardened off from her years spent in southern California...and this 6 degrees is killing her. Right now in San Diego, it's the best time of year...sunny, 60/70's...easy.

Here, it's 6 degrees.

I don't think I really need  to say anything more. But I will. Come on, it's me.

The circus involved in getting the kids out the door lasts twice as long as usual. The walk to/from school takes twice as long (it took two times longer than it should have before the winter hit) and is riddled with things like...

"Mommy, my sock fell off in my boot. It feels weeeirddd."
"I'm cooooooold!"
"Carry me."
Jumping into snow banks to make snow angels when we're 5 minutes late.
"My mitten's slipping!" Tears and snot streaming down her face.
Sitting down and refusing to get up.
"Hey Mom! Snowball!" Smack.
Plummeting to the sidewalk when an errant boot catches a crack.

Of course, situations like this happened in the height of summer as well...come to think of it...autumn too. Just add your season-specific complaint and you'll see the catastrophe that is our family walking to and from our house. Add the dog to the mix and you get a real show. I try to remain calm and Mary Poppins-like throughout the experience, soaking up all the quirks that I'll miss some day. Often, I achieve that affect but usually all I'm really thinking about is how early is too early to pour myself a glass of red.

But now I'm home, a hot pack on my feet, a snoring hot-box of a dog next to me and a cup of tea in my hand. Warmth has been achieved. Until I have to get up again, anyway.

I'll get that glass of red later.