Parenting » Stop, Drop and Blog

A Plea to Old Man Winter

Jan 252012

Dear Old Man Winter,

What gives? We haven’t had enough snow to play in and it’s nearly February. Right now, it’s currently sleet-ice-raining. In case you didn’t notice, sleet-ice-rain is not snow. It’s crap. Ice is crap, Old Man Winter. Crap. With a capital C.

In November, I made the hair band reference joke, that “nothing lasts forever, even cold November Rain.” But you know what? It has! I understand you’re not in charge of November or even the beginning half of December; that’s the Funky Fall Fairy or whatever. But I thought for sure when we were denied a White Christmas that the snowflakes would soon fly and cover the yard in a spectacular blanket of white.

But no.

We’ve had some snowflakes. Here. And there. But they weren’t even enough to cover the grass (that seems to be growing, what with the 60 degree days in January and all). To top it off, quite literally, you topped off our last snow with a glaze of ice so thick that we couldn’t even park in our own driveway. Not cool. Not cool at all.

All of this would be mostly tolerable, but I kind of made one of those parental slip ups that looms over my head darker than the gray, snowless January clouds. It happened just the other day. LittleBrother was lamenting the fact that we had no snow to play in… yet again. He was getting kind of four-year-old angsty, and I let the words fly before I considered their weight.

“It will snow enough for us to play in this winter, LittleBrother. I promise.”

As soon as I said the words “I promise,” I knew I had gone wrong. I can’t promise anything about weather. In fact, I wouldn’t put it past you, Old Man Winter, to just give us a dusting of snow between now and spring to prove your point. Plus, both the boys and I got new snow boots for Christmas. It’s almost destined not to snow, isn’t it?

And so, I promised my youngest son that it would snow. I promised. And I’ve tried to teach my sons that we keep promises in our family, that our words hold a lot of weight and that we should keep true to our word. But, in my defense, I had only had a half a cup of coffee and was on question number 412 before 9:00 in the morning. Surely you can cut me a little slack?

I don’t need a lot of snow, but I won’t complain if there’s a boatload either. I just want to hear my sons giggle and laugh in the snow. I want to build an angry snowman with them again. I want to look at the joy on their faces, to see the magic in their eyes.

I just want to keep my promise.

So, could you pretty please see what you can do? I’ve defended you for years, and I maintain that winter is my favorite season. Surely you could give back a little. Pretty please, with snowflakes on top?

If not for me…

…for him.

~~Sincerely~~ With heartfelt love of winter,
FireMom

Why I’m Here

Parenting 4 Responses »

Jan 132012

I was heading out the door. I stopped into the playroom, keys in hand, jacket buttoned up. “See you guys!”

BigBrother actually paused his DS and looked at me. “Where are you doing?”

“I’m off to the doctor. Remember, I said it would take awhile.”

“Oh good.”

I raised an eyebrow at him.

“When you’re gone for long times, that means I get to miss you. I like to miss you.”

Huh.

I’ve made choices and rearranged schedules and altered the course of my career to be here. A lot. Most of the time. I travel here and there. And I do actually have a life outside of the walls of my house. But I am here. A lot.

It’s the moments like these that make me confused as to what I’m doing. Here. All the time.

I grew up with a mom who put herself through college when I was a small child, worked her way up the ladder and was both a great mom and a great career woman. She was there when I was younger, and I remember “helping” her study at our coffee table. I don’t think I realized that I was more of a distraction than a help until I was trying to meet deadlines and learn new things with two children under foot. Or, often, on top of my feet as they frequently drive cars and trains and trucks and fire trucks and ambulances and tractors over my toes while I work.

Working from home isn’t always easy. Learning to separate what I do for work from what I do for my family was a hard process, learned (and re-learned) over the past six years. Like Stacy, I share an office with the playroom, though I mostly hang out upstairs since my two sons have been known to make ear drums burst with their volume. Someday I dream of my own office space, one that I don’t have to share with anyone. With a lock on the door, which would be pointless as it would mostly be open and children would be standing in it asking me for water when they can get the water themselves. But I still dream of it. It’s green, obviously.

It’s funny that I love to travel for my job, and I look forward to taking trips to new places. But as the day arrives, I dread leaving my little guys behind. I enjoy my time with my coworkers, meeting new people and experiencing new things, but I love the look on their face when I return. When I got back from my MRI the other day, they looked just as happy. Mainly because it was time to play Super Mario Bros., so it may have been less about me and more about my accidental timing. But I smiled back at them, ready to play.

I dropped the boys off with my mother-in-law to spend the night tonight. We’re having our last holiday celebration tomorrow with my sister-in-law and her husband. Maybe tomorrow when I show up, they will run and hug me and say, “Mommy! I missed you!”