The north wind doth blow

And we shall have snow,
And what will the robin do then,
Poor thing?

He’ll sit in a barn,
To keep himself warm,
And hide his head under his wing,
Poor thing.

    — Anon. (from Mother Goose)

My mother used to read this nursery rhyme to me as a child, and I can still quote it to this day.  If only I could retain World Geography so well.  Maybe I should have learned it when I was three.

Growing up in Virginia, I didn’t see much snow.  But my grandparents lived in Maine, so I did get introduced to "real" winter on the few Christmas vacations we spent with them.  I always romanticized New England winters.  I suppose most kids do.  After all, there is something almost magical about that fluffy white stuff.

When I went to college in Massachusetts, I got more than my fair share of winter.  And I loved every minute of it — the more snow the better.  I drove a little Subaru with 4-wheel drive that was perfect for the snowy winters, and I was practically impervious to the cold.  Even the year that we got a foot of snow in April and everyone else was cursing Old Man Winter, I was still utterly enchanted.

Fast forward to present day.  Let’s just say, I’ve lost . . .  That looooooovin’ feeeelin’. 

How can someone who once loved winter so much detest it so much now?  Because I do detest it.  In fact, detest is not a strong enough word.  Is there a stronger hate word than detest?  Because if there is, THAT’S what I feel towards winter.  It’s just so . . .   so . . .   COLD.  And inconvenient. 

EVERYTHING is more challenging in cold weather.  Especially when you’re a mother of three young children.  You can’t just pick up and go somewhere when it’s cold outside.  You have to find the coats and the hats and the mittens and the shoes and the socks.  In fact, now that I think about it, it is only since becoming a mother that I have begun to loathe winter. 

Hey, wait.  Does that mean I might actually "outgrow" this hatred of winter?  Will it not seem so bad when the kids are older and able to do more for themselves?  Oh, maybe there’s hope!  Because I married a man who has his feet firmly planted on Pennsylvania soil, and I hate to think of spending the next fifty winters in a funk. 

Right now it’s 17 degrees.  SEVENTEEN.  Brrrr.  To everyone reading from south of the Mason-Dixon line, I am sooooo jealous of your weather right now.