I have this lifelong dream of living somewhere really cold. Somewhere where a white Christmas is all but guaranteed and spring does not mean 90 degree days in April. (Although, with the help of global climate change, I think I'm gonna get that without actually moving.)
But the last two winters have taught me something. I like spring.
I never really thought about it. I love fall and winter and hate summer and it always seemed like spring would be nice if it lasted longer than a couple days. (A lot of people think KY has lovely springs and I guess it does if you don't have allergies and hate all weather above 80 degrees. I'm sorry, but if it's 90 and the humidity is 89%, it's summer. It just is.)
But last year's epic cold and this year's late cold and epic snow has taught me that I just want to see the freakin' ground. I want grass and blue skies and an end to the eternal gray. I want to walk outside without bundling up like the little brother in A Christmas Story. I can't put my arms down, ya'll.
Today, we have something that looks very much like spring. The snow is melting, the rain is falling in a pleasingly ground soaking fashion (and okay, yeah, with the runoff we've got flooding) and it's a balmy 45 out there. And yet, we're going to have snow by the end of the day. Around a foot if the forecasts are right.
And then I'll cry. Because seriously, I just cannot with more snow.
I'm going to be snowed in with the kids again. I'm going to bundle them up and kick them out to sled and then be making hot chocolate ten whole minutes later, because - Newsflash - snow is cold.
On the bright side, free day off work. And maybe I'll sew. And get some cleaning done. And stay in my pj's till noon. I mean, it won't be all bad. I hope.
All I know is that this year, I am going to enjoy my two days of actual spring to the fullest. I am going to party like it's March 21.