Whine

 So after a winter that has brought three or four storms that dropped a foot of snow each, and some kind of additional weather combination that has made our walkway and driveway an actual sheet of ice two inches deep, I have to say that I'm over it. I just over it.

I'm sick of being stuck inside with an active toddler. I'm sick of trying to toddle precariously to the car hoping to god we don't wipe out, jam her car seat straps over her winter coat, and then get into the world's dirtiest car (inside, not outside) because it's too damn freezing out to clean it.

I realized recently that - for me - the thing that makes winter difficult is the fact that it just makes everything so much harder. It's harder to get out of the house, it's a longer process to get into the car, the snowbanks and the impassable sidewalks make walking and driving either dangerous or impossible.

It hasn't hit me in years past like it has this year and I'm sure it's because Charlotte is trying to survive the confines of winter right along with me.

But yesterday it hit 40 degrees and when I walked outside to go to the grocery store I felt a little dramatic in my relief. I almost skipped. But the ice was still there so I didn't.

So whereas before I was longing for the warm days of summer when we can play in the back yard or take walks or jump in the car on a moment's notice, I now have much lower expectations. I am now willing to happily accept the disgusting mud and slush that "spring" brings here - I'm told that in other parts of the country, that season is nice, with flowers and warmth, but I don't buy it.

All I want is to hang the down coat in the closet and not need a dose of Xanax before walking to the car. Life is better when your expectations are lower.