Dear Mother Nature,
This winter has been a pleasant surprise. I have not missed the hurried quests to find lost mittens before racing to the bus stop, frantically peeling off layers of clothing so the preschooler can make it to the potty in time, or giving up completely on any hairstyle at all and just wearing a silly knit hat all day.
However, I now need snow! If Virginia doesn't have a cold snap and some snow on the ground soon, I will go C-R-A-Z-Y.
The following are leading to my mental and emotional demise:
I am fully prepared for a snow day—Did I have snow boots when I had to walk through 3 feet of snow? No, but I do now. In October, I equipped our family with snow boots, snow suits, waterproof gloves and hats—all at full price for fear that everything would be sold out once the first flurry of winter came our way. They have been taking up enormous amounts of coat closet real estate for months with tags still on them, just taunting me.
Speaking of my coat closet, which is about the size of a coffin … well, it has exploded. My coat closet is really only capable of handling one season at a time, and because we've been in a constant rotation of winter coats, rain jackets, galoshes, windbreakers and cardigans, the contents of said closet are on the floor, stairs and banister. It's a wonder we can get the front door open at this point, and I've been attacked by an avalanche of outerwear too many times to count.
I like my seasons. No, I depend on them. Growing up in the Mideast, I've come to expect four seasons and all that goes with them: the color and crunch of fall leaves, football weather, warm sweaters, the silence of fallen snow, cold pink cheeks, hot chocolate, soup, daffodils, cherry blossoms, the first short-sleeves weather, flip flops, popsicles, playing in the sprinkler and spending days at the pool. Skipping a season, as it feels we are doing right now, is wreaking havoc with my senses, and perhaps my hormones.
And finally, I am writing to appeal to your maternal sensibilities. All year, my children ask, "When is it going to snow again?" and I tell them they have to wait until after Christmas. Since then, it has been a waiting game. They hear Al Roker say, "And here's what's happening in your neck of the woods," and they come running, only to be disappointed by reports of sunny weather.
I didn't allow my 6-year-old to play in the layer of ice a few weeks ago (because it wasn't snow!), and have been paying the price for that decision ever since. "That might have been my only chance to play in the snow this year!" she yells at me with disdain.
So, Mother Nature, I'm begging you, please send us some snowflakes. My children cannot bear to wait another year for snow, and therefore, neither can I.
A Northern Virginia Mom
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