Baby, It's COLD Out There!

I grew up in southeastern Virginia. I remember a few significant snowfalls, one when my brother and I built an igloo with the neighborhood kids and another when we went sledding down the neighbor's hill into a semi-frozen Lucas Creek (don't tell my parents). Snow was an anomaly, not an expectation. It was a very rare and welcome respite from school that involved hot chocolate and snow cream. Those were the days.

Now I live in the Midwest where snow is a fact of life. From December until March (which often feels like December to December), snow covers the ground. It covers the ground because it's never warm enough to melt. Hence, winter on "the frozen tundra" becomes about boots and layers and endless car washes and - for me - where to go for spring break.

So in keeping with my annual February whine-fest, here's my list of things I find frightening about winter on the Frozen Tundra.

1. In spite of an annual snowfall of 50" (we'll double that this year), snow days are so rare here that kids wear their pajamas inside out and backwards in the hopes that they'll have at least one day off of school. It can snow 6" in 30 minutes and the plows have the roads cleared and salted by minute 31. (What is in that salt anyway?)

2. The meteorologists name the winter storms. They are given identities. In fact, here's this year's list: 1. Andrew 2. Brooke 3. Carter 4. Dawn 5. Eli 6. Faith 7. George 8. Hannah 9. Ian 10. Julia 11. Kyle 12. Lily. Lucky us, it looks like Hannah's headed our way next.

3. It can get so cold that it's not the snow that's the problem, it's the windchill (or rather, the possibility that one might lose a body part in less than four minutes because of the windchill.) This is the one and only way for kids to get a day off of school. We've already had two "windchill" days this year.

4. The push broom's sole purpose is to remove melted snow, salt and ice from the garage. This twice-weekly exercise is a big part of my upper body strength training program. I recently added an ice chipper to my strength repertoire.

5. My DNA does not belong here. I've been in the Midwest for 18 years and every January my mother sends me a photo of her first crocus. I cry.

6. See the above photo. The plows build a hill tall enough on our crescent that our house is not fully visible from the road. Hello, that's the second floor you're looking at!

7. Life goes on. People here love winter and don't tolerate whiners. The truth is that hill has provided countless hours of inspiration in the form of snow ball fights and fort and slide construction. So while I do hate the cold and yearn for somewhere warm and sunny, I am lucky my roots are where snow is viewed as a treasure. Every time it snows, I get a little excited about the prospect of hot chocolate, snow cream and a day off of school (even if it's never a reality).