Seriously!
I knew when we moved up to Park City all those years ago that the winters would be long. My real estate agent warned me: “Beth, you are going to move back to Salt Lake City in no time. You hate Winter!” True, if I had a choice, a Snowy Mountain Hideaway would not be top on my list. Snowy Mountain Hideaways are good for long weekends, not for full time living. Yes, my sons have become excellent skiers and my husband is over the moon with the fact that he found a way to ski home from the ski resort. All very cool things to big and little dudes alike. Me, on the other hand, well, I think I have probably skied approximately ten times in the five years we have wintered here. I want to ski. I have earnest desires to ski. One year I broke my nose and foot and then this year I had a very sick boy. He, however, managed to ski more than me.
Honestly, and more specifically, I do not hate winter! What I hate are those months after the Sundance Film Festival ends until that time when the daffodils in my yard are in full bloom. (No, just seeing a little bud through the snow does not count.) And to show you how flexible I can be, I will happily oblige Winter until Ski Season officially ends in mid April. Talk about compromise. However, any snow that falls after April 15 can just shove itself way back high into the atmosphere.
I know my mother-in-law thinks I am crazy, and she is not the only snow-loving person who does. Every time she comes to visit she sits for hours in our living room staring out the window. “I just love looking at the snow. I do not understand why you do not like it. Anyone would be lucky to live here.” I know. I know. I am the ungrateful soul crusher who just happens to be married to your first born son, your amazing son, who built his beautiful dream home, pounding nail by nail, with his bare calloused and bloodied hands.
Her latest visit was in mid March. The moment she walked into our house the boys asked her to sit with them at the kitchen counter. “No, I am going to sit over here.” Here meaning in the breakfast nook by the big windows that look out into our backyard. “I just want to look out the window at the snow.” ( I cannot go any further without mentioning that the night before when Dave and I were talking about his lovely mother’s visit I surmised that all she would want to do is “stare out the window and look at the snow.” Guess what? She did. All I am saying is that I know my mother-in-law.) **Note: It should go without saying that I love my delightful mother-in-law and awesome-tastic husband. I just do not get their love of snow.
“My mom does not like the snow.” They boys told her, and then they left her alone to stare at our snow covered yard. I have spent years hearing how crazy I am for not liking the snow and finally made it a point to have my response ready for the snow lovers: “Mother-in-law, it is not that I do not like the snow. I do. I grew up in Minnesota. I am a hardy Midwesterner. I just do not like snow nine months out of the year. You do not live here. Your snow is melted. If I came to visit you at your 7,200 feet in elevation snow covered home, I think it would be pretty awesome too. I live here. And to have eight foot high walls of snow in mid-March is not my dream.” Ok, maybe a little overkill. I just wanted to be clear. Am I clear?
It is now May 10, 2011. Mother’s Day is gone. The snow, well, it is still here. This morning I did what I do every morning. I get up. I get the boys up. I assist where I am needed. I get breakfast on the table. Nothing fancy, some Ovaltine and Cereal. I put Eli’s snack in his backpack, slick down Kyle’s crazy fly-away sideburns and remind the boys to brush their teeth, have a moment at the back door to talk about our day and then get everyone out the door. This morning I also shut the garage door and listened to Eli’s outburst as a result of me removing my hair brush from my bathroom. “Mom, mom, I looked everywhere! I WAS NOT DONE BRUSHING MY HAIR!” Okay dokay little fellow. I gave him a comb and then he shrieked as he combed a chunk of hair out of his head. “MOM! I CAN’T!” Oh, the horrors of having Justin-Bieber-Esque hair that can never ever be referred to as “Justin Bieber Hair”.
Everyone was out the door. I stopped to catch my breath, eat my oatmeal and read the news. Then I saw them. They were tiny, so very small that maybe I would simply not notice them. “I see you! I see you tiny tiny snowflakes.” and then I went back to bed.
Please REAL Spring come! I need you. I need to see grass. I need to see bright yellow Dafodils. I do not think it is funny anymore to make predictions about how long the snow will stay. Our prediction this morning: July!
And by September it will snow again! Ay-Yi-Yi!
I love snow as much as you. Right now I think I might like some. It is one of those humid hot MN days…….No, never mind no snow. Maybe I could send you some of this tropical moisture to melt your snow.
I love reading what you write
I love snow. Which is precisely my point: I LIKE loving it. I could not live with it. I like that it’s so rare here in Dallas that I have a year and a half old bag of it in my freezer. To me, snow is a novelty. I don’t think I could live with it that long. More than a week and I go a little nuts. I so get you. xo
Thank you for feeling my pain. I like snow like you like snow. I would be happy to have a bag of it in my fridge to remind me what it is like.
For what it’s worth, I don’t think I could live sanely with 9 months of snow. I lived much of my life in Oregon, so people think I’m used to snow. I’m not…I grew up in a valley where a 1/2 inch of snow closed schools. My future may involve living somewhere with harsher winters than the mid-Atlantic, and I’m a little leery of it.
So glad you are back, Beth!
Beth, you know I feel your pain. I do enjoy snow. It’s pretty. I like to ski. But, you’ll perhaps note the silent boycott happening at my blog. The next post is supposed to be the Spring post. And I just don’t have it in me. It’s still f***ing snowing! I try to adopt a good attitude, but have decided that in future years, I just have to spend more of the time between ski resort closure and melt-off at a lower elevation, enjoying someone else’s daffodils. It’s the only way to stay sane.