Winter Schminter Blech

It's been five blissful years without a winter. Five sun a'blazin', sunscreen slathering, must go to the beach to cool off kind of winters. This year the dream has ended; the fun in the sun screeching to a final halt atop a five foot snow drift complete with temperatures dipping below zero. My gorgeous brown tan has faded into a ghastly freckled white and I'm trying to reacquaint myself with terms such as "wind chill factor" and "black ice."

Don't get me wrong. I don't hate winter. Any season that allows me to run right out and buy three different pairs of kick ass black boots rocks in my book. Especially when I can justify them all with the need for keeping my little tootsies warm. It is the actual cold that I despise. If I could just have winter, with the threat of cold thereby requiring the purchase and wearing of aforementioned kick ass boots, without the actual cold and snow and sleet and ice and all that other shit... well, then I would be one very, very happy mama.

It is not just me acclimatizing to this weather. My Hawaii born children are going through major acclimation. At least I grew up in the southern Artic (more commonly referred to as Chicago) and can recall certain vital aspects of winter survival such as glove wearing (or at the very least, sticking one's hands into pockets), the importance of socks, avoiding the yellow snow, and always put your hood up before attempting a snow angel. These seemingly simple concepts are completely lost on my equator monkeys.

Reilly Kate absolutely refuses to wear turtle necks (she complains they choke her), sweaters of any kind (even the softest cotton is deemed itchy), scarves (an impediment to breathing), hats (muffle sound so she cannot hear), and socks (also deemed itchy). Through suave negociations, I can normally get her to wear her hood up over her head, but she refuses to zipper unless physically coerced. She also has no snow etiquette what so ever. Going up to her classmates and smashing handfuls of snow in their face is, to her, the ultimate act of friendship. In her four year old Hawaiian mind, the world is covered in free shave ice. Hence the reason I must reiterate several times a day to both my children that yellow snow is NOT lilikoi flavored shave ice from heaven.

Roman is younger and therefore a bit more adaptable, but he still has his issues. He takes off his shoes and socks whenever indoors. That means inside the car, inside Burger King, the grocery store, even inside church. His toes just have to be free, no matter the temperature outside. Mittens just do not stay on his hands. I don't know if the problem lies with him, me, or the mittens themselves, but I just cannot get those suckers to stay. When I threaten him with his hands freezing off if they do not stay on, he carries his hands straight up in the air like a doctor just finished scrubbing in for surgery. As soon has he forgets and puts them down, off fall the mittens. He'll wear a scarf and hat, but somehow has managed to lose several of each. Last time I made him wear Reilly Kate's gear, which he loved because they were frilly and purple with flowers.

But really, if you've been a mother in the cold, cold winter then you know there are several layers necessary, each with its own tricks, to getting the family out of the house in the blistery winds. And if you know me and failed to mention any of these little tricks that have created huge stumbling blocks if not absolute dead ends for me and my mothering, well, then all I have to say to you is "Shame, shame, shame on your mammary glands. May your ovaries shrivel like raisins and may your belly resemble a turkey's wattle."

All the clothing that goes on the kids. The coats and the this and the that and the whole shebang. Then we get into the car and I have to disrobe them. After all that arguing about putting the dang stuff on, now off come the coats and the hats and scarves, the mittens, so I can put them safely in their carseats. Oh, but now they are cold, so I must bundle them up with fleece blankets, tucking them carefully so as not to interfere with the safety features of the carseats. Bloody fucking hell.

Then, no sooner have I pulled out of the parking garage, I look back and see little pink toes wiggling freely in the cold car air. Boots and socks have been tossed about, the carefully tucked fleece blankets stripped off. And we drive. Driving past crazy Koreans you'd think should be well educated in snow and ice given their geographic location, but every year tell me that it never snows in Seoul and then feign shock and awe by the site of 6 inches dumped on the city. In fact, I've actually seen Koreans shovel out trees, throwing the snow straight into the street, right onto the path of traffic. But the streets and sidewalks go completely unplowed. Ah, but I digress.

Anyway, by the time we've reached our destination, the air has warmed up and the snow and ice that they tracked in is melted leaving the socks that are strewn about wet. I put on their wet socks, their boots, and hats and scarves and mittens and coats just so we can run from the parking lot to inside where they proceed to once again strip and throw. I have gotten a little bit faster and more proficient. Where it once would take me about 20 minutes to get us dressed and out of the store (yes, you should have seen me near the exit of the PX as mother after mother goes past with her warmly dressed offspring, desperately trying to perform), it now takes a mere ten, provided there are no potty surprises.

But we did enjoy our first snow day, complete with a miniature snowman and some hot cocoa. I had to muster up the courage to bundle them all up and take them out. The mustering actually took me about 3 hours, the prep 40 minutes, the bundling a half hour, and time spent out outside totaled just under 20 minutes. Since Reilly Kate only goes to school for three hours a day, I think I'm entitled to an hour and a half in change. Do I apply to the school board for that?



Heading out into the snowy streets of our very own Hyundai Hometown Apartments.






Building a mini Frosty, sans hat or corncob pipe, or button nose, or two eyes made out of coal. Okay. Maybe it wasn't Frosty. In fact, it probably doesn't even qualify as a snowman as it had no head. It was really a big... well, a small mound of snow. But cut my kids a break here. They can make really cool sand castles!






Roman fell down while walking on the street in front of our apartment. That little path you see wasn't shoveled, by the way. It was squeegied. One of the security guards here took a squeegy and kind of pushed the snow out of the way, creating this little godsend of a path. Ingenious? Or daftly inefficient? Depends on how you look at it, I guess.






Even Truman got himself a little snow. Poor little Aussie dog.