The Two Climate Family

I’m writing this while wearing a hat, a thinsulate vest, two pairs of pants, a turtleneck, a thick knitted sweater, a scarf, a pair of socks and a pair of boots. I am sitting inside. It is snowing outside.

This makes my husband laugh.

He sleeps with a thin sheet while I huddle next to him stuffed like sausage under my down comforter. He does not care that the car is ice cold. He believes a snowstorm an invitation for a walk. My December born daughter goes outside with him. Seven seconds later she takes off her scarf and then her hat. Seven minutes after that the two of them are outside happily de-gloved and nearly de-coated.

Seven months from now it will be July. I will go outside again. I will wear no shoes. I will let the mud in the backyard fill in the spaces in between my toes. I will put on my bathing suit, my sunscreen and nothing else. I will feel the warm sun on my face and admire the shiny blue pool I like to keep meticulously free of leaves and dust.

The two of them will be inside the house then huddled around the air conditioning, drinking cold drinks and pleading for November to show up again. I will try very hard not to laugh when I come back inside the house.

We have two cats. The longhair loves the cold. At the first hint of snow she demands to be let out. The shorthaired cat waits until spring and then joins me in the mud welcoming.

Once in a while I try to embrace my inner winter. I venture outside when the snow gets swirly as it was today in my ear. I pull my hair from the back of my neck and let the cold wind touch it. Then I run back inside as every single skin cell chides me for this act of temporary insanity.

I may want to step outside with my family as my daughter makes a snowman or my husband tromps through the backyard even as the windchill falls. But until the weather gods figure out a way to make snow warm I’m afraid you’ll find me where I am now: under five layers of clothing dreaming of April.