I have this thing about being cold.
That is to say, I don't like it. No, actually I hate, despise, abhor being cold.
I'm in the throes of a love affair with rice heating packs. A simple cotton sack filled with rice, then microwaved for a few minutes. Or several minutes, if you're me. Before I go to bed at night, I heat mine for five minutes, then put it down by my feet in bed. (Those pioneer folk really had something with those hot stones at their feet in their wagons. Smart ones, they were.) Five minutes is far too long for any normal person without an intense aversion to being cold. But it's just right for me. The pack is so hot that it would probably actually blister if given the chance. I put my feet on it for about three and a half seconds, then pull them away quickly to let them cool. Then I do it again. And again. I tell you, it warms me the whole way through. And I'm sure my husband loves my continual moving since he's got to be up at one in the morning.
Similarly, I don't like my showers hot - I like them scalding. I want to have to inch my way into the water to avoid actually burning myself. And I don't see anything unreasonable about putting my clothes into the dryer for a few minutes to warm them before I put them on.
With a good illustration now of just how much I hate the cold, you'll realize why this next paragraph indicates the possibility of insanity:
In a moment of sheer, house-bound desperation, I took the children to play at the park.
I did. We wrapped up in scarves and hats and winter parkas and walked to the park, carefully trekking over huge patches of ice, because we all desperately needed some fresh air and some Active Play.
Active Play is practically nonexistent in the winter. Active Play is reserved for summer days when the grass is green and the sun is shining and no one has to think about being too cold.
The girls had a fabulous time, carefully stepping around patches of ice on the stairs in order to go down the slides, sliding down and landing - thump! - in mounds of snow a foot deep. I stood on the sidelines and breathed warm breath into my scarf, trying to keep from getting frostbite on my nose.
We lasted about thirty minutes before the dog and I were both shivering and miserable. I gathered up the children so we could begin the treacherous journey home, sniffling and shielding our eyes the whole way. I hope they don't think this will become a regular thing. But a good lesson was learned - children can have plenty of fun on a playground covered in snow and sometimes it's worth braving the miserable, bone-chilling cold to get out of the house!
Mother Nature, please feel free to bring us Spring at your earliest convenience. We're ready.