Seasonal Perspectives

I've learned in the last couple of weeks that I am something of a hypocrite when it comes to the weather.  Growing up in Iowa, we get a sick sense of pride out of being able to handle the weather without too much fuss; we go about our business, drive (more or less) normally and don't bat an eyelash at dropping temperatures and falling snowflakes.

But we also do something I really hate.  When I see footage of people in California or Florida bundled up in down coats because the temperature dips below 65, I can't help but roll my eyes and laugh at their exaggerated response to a temperature swing that would feel just fabulous around these parts.  I shouldn't be too critical, though, because we do the exact opposite.

While today is utterly frigid, we did have a few days in the last two weeks where the temperature hit 40 degrees.  Forty degrees-- warm enough to melt some snow and force all of us Iowans outside without coats, and those die-hard runners to be frolicking around in Spandex shorts and tank tops.  I even opened my windows, not because it was really warm enough, but because that tiny taste was enough to change my perspective from "winter" to "spring".

For their part, the boys were actually able to play outside in the melting snow, sledding in our yard and probably cataloging the locations of all of Oscar's dog poop caches for me to pick up in mid-April.

I stood on the patio and shot several photos of them playing, if for no other reason than to document this unseasonably warm and sunny day.  They raced up and down the hill, rolling on each other and laughing like boys playing in the snow.  Bad simile, I know, but they'd pretty much forgotten what it was like to be outside, and I'd forgotten what it was like not to have them in the house.

As it turns out, the air is fresher, the house is quieter, no one uses the bathroom without flushing (probably why the air is fresher), and I feel a little more human.

Cael shouted to me to go to the deck and check out his "work", and I knew then that this warmer snap was doing me good because I didn't immediately assume he'd strung his brother up by the snowpants.  Instead, I climbed to the deck to see that Cael had written his name in the snow.

Can't see it?  Let me help.

Even my six year old felt the need to sign his name to this day and claim it as his own.  I guess the change in perspective did us all good.  Too bad it won't last; maybe I need to change my perspective to one from Tahiti...