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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

Parenting “Experts” on Daylight Saving Time Have Never Met BigBrother

Parenting 3 Responses »

Nov 072011

Back in college, the end of Daylight Saving Time was a blast. An extra hour to party! As a parent, it’s not quite as fun — especially as a parent to BigBrother.

My perpetual early riser bunks all of those “helpful” tips that parenting “experts” splay all over the web this time of year. First of all, they give their advice far too late. Don’t tell me that my end-of-DST-sleep-woes will be magically erased if I start three weeks prior to the change — ON THE DAY OF THE CHANGE. Secondly, your tips for the three week change are laughable. 15 minute increments don’t change BigBrother’s sleep schedule. 30 minute increments don’t change BigBrother’s sleep schedule. It doesn’t matter if he goes to sleep at 7pm or 11pm: He’s up at 7AM. Or, yesterday, 6AM. And for some unknown, hideous, soul-sucking reason, he was up at 5AM today.

Well, maybe not an unknown reason. It’s my fault.

On Saturday night, I remembered to change the clocks in the kitchen before I went to bed. When BigBrother came waltzing into my room at the new six o’clock, I told him to go back to his room until his clock said seven-zero-zero. We’ve done that with him for years; he can read or play quietly until the clock says it’s seven o’clock, and then he can come get us. You do what you have to with an early riser. However, you may have noticed that I said I changed the clocks in the kitchen.

“Mommy, my clock already says it’s seven o’clock.”

Cuss. I forgot his clock.

I reached for my iPhone on the nightstand and showed him, “No, see? It’s 6:14! Still lots of time to sleep! Hooray! Now, go back to bed.”

“But Mommy, MY clock says it’s already seven. Your clock is wrong.”

It didn’t even matter when I sent him to the kitchen to look at the stove, the microwave or the coffee pot; it was seven o’clock, and dang it, we were going to be awake.

But what does that have to do with him waking up even earlier this morning? Knowing BigBrother as I do, he was probably freaked out about the clock discrepancy and his brain was on overdrive, waking him up even earlier to check the clock situation. He’s never actually woken up during the five o’clock hour since we’ve had the clock in his room. Six, yes. Five, no. So when he saw it, he was confused.

“Mommy! My clock says it’s FIVE. I don’t even know what that MEANS!”

Me either. Me either, dude.

I explained it was very, very early and that he should go back to sleep, not just read. An hour later, “Mommy! My clock says it’s SIX!” Snort-yawn, back to bed, yawn. About twenty minutes later, “Mommy, my clock is moving so slowly.”

That it is.

So now he’s paranoid about his clock. And he’ll wake up at the same time tomorrow, even if we keep him up until midnight. Changing his internal clock is a harder transition than changing the increments of what time we put him to bed every night. It’s more than blackout curtains — which he has. It’s more than what he does or does not do or eat or drink before bed. It’s something that has to happen with him in his own time, no matter what the “experts” say. He’s going to be up at six — or earlier — for the next few months. He’ll change just about the time that the clocks change again, though that change is easier for him — because he’s some odd child who loves mornings.

So Big