Some people just love snow. They were born in it, would make a house of it, bathe in it. They bring their offspring in the snow to frolic; not me. I went to college in snow country, Oswego, NY. Aside from walking to class in it, and making drunken snow bunnies, the recreational value was lost on me. Being cold, is just not my thing. I mean, I went to school in ski country, and I never tried it, ever.
Now fast forward, five kids later. You'd think that my paradigm of snow had shifted. After all, kids love snow. The magic of childhood is seen in a child's eyes while they are discovering the joy of snow. Yea, it is also there when they are sleeping. I like that better. I've seen many of my neighbors with their one or two kids outside playing in the yard and they have it easy. You feel like you have to take your kids outside too, to keep up with those neighbors. Otherwise, the neighbors will point to your house while talking about you and say, "She never lets those kids out of the house. I never see them outside." Well, lady, we play in our backyard for a reason, YOU.
Try dressing five kids for snow. Just the thought of it makes the vodka bottle sing my name a million times louder. Because, to get that amazing task done, it will suck the energy out of you for the rest of the day. You have to find their snow stuff,(in MD, it snows so infrequently, that the snow suits and gear are among the holiday stuff that is used once a year, along with the vase some relative gave you that you have to keep and display if and when they ever come to visit.) So you find their snow stuff and then you have to dress them or facilitate dressing.
#1 can dress himself, but somehow, he still thinks that we are more related to dolphins than we really are. Baby, your butt does not require the same exposure to air that a dolphin's blow hole does. Keep it covered. I promise you, you will not be oxygen deficient. Yes, pants are supposed to cover your heiney. So, I have to help #1 pull up his pants to a suitable height. #2 dresses as if he is a messy version of superman changing in a phone box. Think Chris Farley emerging from the box dressed as an Eskimo and you have a great visual. #3 can mange mostly autonomously, but we have the same "butt needs air" problem. Lastly, the twins need help every step of the way. But now, they like to run laps around the house in between items.
The time comes when they are all suited up and resemble variations of the Michelin tire people and then it is time for the item I despise the most: the gloves or mittens. Why is it, that trying to get your kid's thumb in it's allocated section in the mitten, harder than understanding the theory of relativity? When you're holding the mitten and guiding their hand into the mitten, somehow the thumb goes awry and no matter how you try to manipulated the mitten, that freaking thumb will head off in some juxtaposed position making you go through the process of putting on and taking off the mitten enough times that you either let the thumb remain rogue or you send them outside, sans mittens before you lose your shit and wind up saying those bad words, as you chuck the mitten across the house. And that is when #1 walks in, puts his face in my face and asks, "What's wrong mom? Why you so mad?" Gotta love him.
Gloves are worse, they mock me with with all 10 fingers. They look so innocent and pretty until your children try to put them on, and then it become Houdini's magical evasive gloves. It may be easier to catch salmon with your bare hands than to put gloves on a kid. Even watching them try to put the gloves on is painful. You try to let the kid be autonomous and you have to slap yourself several times to prevent yourself from grabbing the glove and helping them. After taking a Xanax to get through the last five minutes of watching your child struggle, you take the glove thinking you can get it on, 1,2,3, but you can't. For some reason, it won't go on. All of a sudden your child has twisted their fingers to resemble 94 years old rheumatoid arthritis hands. And you have to stifle the desire to chuck the glove across the room so #1 doesn't come in to ask what the problem is.
When you finally get out in the snow, you wonder how long it will be until someone has to go potty, want something to eat, throw snow at a sibling or want to come in. You have to grab all five sleds because no one wants to share and remember to grab their helmets. You know the other mothers on the hill will be ready to hit the child services number on their phone if you don't have your children properly protected. If you're lucky, you'll get a couple minutes and then you have to make the decision to stay with the kids outside or go with the one who wants to go back in.
Maybe if it snowed more often, I would have a snow routine in place that would make the transition easier. Is it great to watch the kids enjoy the snow? You bet. And it even makes all the effort to get there worth it. Well, at least some of the time. But, a coffee with Bailey's always makes a good reward for the effort.