I hate cold weather. But every year when I’m peeling my sweaty thighs off a plastic lawn chair in the middle of August while perspiration creates a babbling brook though my cleavage, I wistfully dream of frigid temps certain that this year will be the year I appreciate them. This isn’t the year. I still hate cold weather. I’m didn’t chose the subzero life. The subzero life chose me and we’re not a good match.

Now that I’m becoming geriatric I hate the cold even more. My knees feel like the freakin’ Tin Man’s- all creaking and cracking. Any moment now I’m going to start predicting the weather by my bursitis flare-ups. (Oh my God, did I just say “my bursitis”? I’m officially my grandmother.) My back is all knotted up (Though I think that has more to do with hauling around an already fat toddler now clad in layers of fleece and fluff than with me being old.) and the cold air dries out my skin making my wrinkles more prominent. (Seriously, I look like 15-20 years younger in the summer.)

Sure, there are the lowered fashion expectations due to the necessity of snow boots and bulky sweaters that hide all my mid-section jiggle-o to redeem winter. And let’s not scoff at the fact that winter does demand a heightened caloric intake and increased sleep need for mere survival but after a lifetime of this crap (minus those three winters in Turkey were it never went below 35 but I still froze my ass off because heat was too damn expensive) I’m over ass numbing cold. I’m over El Nino, I’m over La Nina, I’m over global warming. I’m over it all.

I’ve taken a bad turn this winter and we’ve only had a handful of subzero days thus far. Readers, I think I’m turning into an agoraphobic. The condition seems to be developing nicely within me so maybe it’s time to just go with it. It’s worked for Paula Deen and Woody Allen- I know right, two great moral compasses by which to guide one’s life, but moral mishaps aside, they both came out on the other side and made millions.

Maybe true agoraphobia is too much for me because I predict that should we ever reach the great thaw, I will want to do a little biking and maybe buy a few groceries. Perhaps what I’m suffering from is more of a “Subzero Temperature Induced Agoraphobia.” Yes, that’s it. That is exactly what I have. See, when I watch Chuck, my go-to weather guy, point out a cooling trend that is bringing anything below 15 degrees, I go into a panic. I change my entire schedule to make sure I don’t need to go out on those days and if I do, I immediately become anxious and hostile towards that entity forcing me into the cold. (I can’t even tell you what happened with Nugget’s audiologist last week when we had to hit a 9:00 am appointment with a wind-chill of -15. That poor woman had no clue of the crazy walking in that door.)

Lest you think this is not a real condition, I’m here to tell you, It is.

In the past month since temps have begun to drop, I’ve canceled appointments, avoided gatherings, let my cupboards go bare and gone without deodorant for days all to avoid going out of my house in the cold. (Oh don’t roll your eyes at me. Nobody actually needs deodorant when it’s -15 degrees. Armpit sweat freezes before it can stink.) I conned the Turk into running errands and have seriously considered homeschooling my oldest to avoid that dreaded morning school drop-off.

In the past, I’ve had to survive the cold because I had to go to work but thanks to my current, caring-for-the-Nugget phase, that’s not an issue. Back in the day I would just slap on some long johns, pull my socks up to my undies and power though like the rest of humanity. Not now. My current life situation is fully supporting my case of Subzero Temperature Induced Agoraphobia.

I work from home so no need to go to work. Nugget’s team of Early Interventionists come right to our home for therapy. I don’t need to take the kids to the library because I can just download library books to my Kindle and videos from Netflix. (Thank you technology.) has me covered on diapers and Amazon can deliver anything else in about the same amount of time it would take to get the kids dressed and into the car. As for the going to the gym, oh hell, who am I kidding. Even if it’s 65 and sunny I’m not going to the gym. If I could get Trader Joe’s to deliver my $2 wine and some beet hummus, all bets would be off. (Don’t judge my addiction, that beet hummus is otherworldly. Oh, you were judging the wine. Well it’s medicinal.)

As I glance at my calendar I see I have one more obligation in January and about two in February. I’ll do my best to postpone those until April but if not, I guess I’ll find a way. Can they do dental visits via Skype?

Until March, if you need me, you know where to find me. I’ll be the one in her Star Wars jammies and foot warmers, peering out from behind the curtains with a steaming mug in hand waiting, just waiting for that thermometer to creep up to 50 degrees.

Vintage Winter Olympics (2)


One thought on “If You Need Me, I’ll Be Inside Until Spring

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