My Precioussssssssssssssssssss

It is a well known fact that I hate Winter.  Everything about it, really.  And I kind of resent all those people who say with stars in their eyes, "Oh, I just LOVE winter!"  I'll bet they're the same type of people who say, "I LOVED being pregnant," or, "I just LOVE newborns."  Both of those things, I could appreciate, but they scared the snowflakes out of me.

Do you know how many horror stories I read/movies I watched regarding pregnancies before getting pregnant?  Rose Mary's Baby was a real downer.  I just woke up every morning thankful that I didn't live in an apartment building in New York, because that would have put my already over-active imagination into maximum over-drive.

And newborns.  I still have PTSD when I hear a newborn goat-cry at King Soopers.  Makes me put both hands up to my chest to see if I need to nurse one side to even the ladies out.  Winter is much the same way.  Yes, I know it makes little sense, but I associate the same scary feelings that I had with pregnancy/newborns with Winter.  Proabably because Bella (our first) was born on November 4th.  I don't really remember anything until Valentine's Day.  That February 14th it rained, while I was out for a walk with Bella in the stroller.  It felt and looked like Spring and I literally fell to a park bench sobbed with relief.

Over the weekend I got a hefty dose of Winter.  Friday night we went to the Old Golden Christmas where we participated in a candlelight walk in 18 degrees.  In my perfect world, it could still snow when it's 50 degrees.  18 was sick.  I, of course, lost my gloves somewhere on the main street of Golden (probably in front of the Ace Tavern). Hurt cold. The kind of cold where we all had to put on our big-girl pants (aside from Aaron) and just decide to do it.  Gabby's fur-lined coat almost caught on fire multiple times, as did the highly flammable Strawberry Shortcake scarf circa 1979 that was mine as a child.

But we survived.   We stayed the night in downtown Golden for kicks, had breakfast and then came home to make a snow cave out back with the girls.  I ended the day in the basement on my bike trainer bitterly pounding out a raging cadence on my bike as if I could ride my way to Arizona or Spring--I'm not picky.

But if I thought this was bad, I was in for a treat because Sunday proved to be much, much worse.  This year in an effort to force the love of Winter into me, we've gotten a family pass to Eldora.  We had planned on skiing on Sunday.  Why not?  I mean why-hi-hi-hi not?  We have a PASS!  I still don't think I properly recovered from Friday night.  I woke up like a petulant toddler when I looked outside and knew it was cold.  Just knew it.  This was confirmed when I saw the temperature.  It was 9 degrees.  9 DEGREES.  And what made me even more bratty was when I realized in bed that I had used the last of my half-n-half in my Friday coffee and had forgotten to get more.

This wouldn't be a big deal for the average person.  But as I've gotten older, I've definitely become ingrained in my precious (said in a Gollem voice) routines.

Gollem's Precious

I LOVE to read the paper and drink coffee with the perfect amount of half-n-half and sugar.  My newspaper subscription ran out again over Thanksgiving, now I was out of half-n-half (which renders my coffee useless and gross) and it was 9 degrees and we were going skiing.  FOUL.  FOUL.  FOULEST of crank.  I should be a grown-up and either be able to adapt, or just NOT LET MY SUBSCRIPTION and supply of half-n-half run out.  I did neither and now my family was going to pay. 

The car ride up was one word answers from me when Aaron would try to engage.  We stepped outside and I was shocked.  SHOCKED with how cold it really was.

The day went down from there.  At our picnic lunch in the lodge, I kept looking at the price board tracing with my eyes how much coffee would be.  Fantasizing.  I almost cried at the thought of going back out.  Walking back from the lodge to the lift, it was now 5 degrees, and I couldn't get my scarf up over my face with my gloves, ski lanyard, helmet, holding my board and Gabby's skis.  What happened next was straight out of a Clark W. Griswold's how to book.

I dropped my snowboard and yelled through the wind and snow to Aaron (who had now lost patience with my sour grapes attitude), "JUST KEEP GOING!  I need to fix my SCARF!"

"NO!  We'll wait."

Uh-oh. In an effort to "ski together as a family,"  Aaron will often try to "wait" on me.  Honestly, this just made me angrier.  I'm sure he wished he hadn't. 

I dropped Gabby's skis and started playing with my scarf.  I couldn't get it wrapped around my face.  So my first instinct was to take my gloves off.  This lasted 4 seconds.  I yelped with pain, put them back on, got the velcro stuck on the scarf, started fighting with the scarf like I fought with my older sister in middle school.  Slapping the air and punching half-heartedly, further tangling myself.  I was muttering and I think I even kicked and stomped a touch.  Not my finest hour. 

Aaron just shook his head and started plodding on with the girls following miserably behind. This was their mother.

Two feeble runs later, we were on our way home.  Aaron was not talking to me. 

Later, after I'd given it considerable thought, I approached him, still wearing a coat, two pairs of socks, a hat and a scarf inside our house.

"I'm sorry.  I didn't bring my A-game today."
"That's one way of putting it."
"It was really cold. You know I hate the cold."
"You made that clear."
"I also didn't really have any coffee this morning and didn't have the paper to read on the way up."
"I made coffee, there was plenty."
"Well, yeah.  But...there was no half-n-half."
He hollered up the stairs, "Girls!  Mama is going to the store right now to get half-n-half, or 'her precious'.  Anyone want to go?"
"NO THANKS!" (they both called in unison).
Looking back at me he said, "Order that paper tomorrow.  Are you going to wear that coat all night?"
"Maybe.  I'm still cold.  Sorry."
"It's okay."

So I went to the store last night, ordered the paper this morning and was hustling around doing the laundry this morning with a spark in my eye, and a whistle in my heart.  Suddenly I got a Gollem-like feeling that someone was messing with my precious.

Aaron is working from home today.  "Surely not," I thought.  "He wouldn't".  I was on the stairs with the laundry basket.I yelled down to Aaron who was in the kitchen, "Hey!  I am still planning on drinking more coffee, so don't throw it out."

Often times I won't get to my coffee until at least 10 when I've really earned it.  I was so so looking forward to it this morning--the self control that it took to not pour it into a trough and snorkel in it was epic.

"Uhhhhh.  You're kidding right.  Didn't you have some?  There's no more.  In fact, honey.  I really had to force that last cup down just because I didn't want it to go to waste."  12 cups.  GONE.

I dropped to the ground with the laundry basket spilling all over and screamed, "NOOOOOOOO!!  MY PRECIOUSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!  Baby, WHY?!?!?!?  WHY??!?!?!?!?"

"Sorry," as he came back up the stairs and stepped over me delicately.  "But you can make more later.  At least you got your half-n-half and paper, right?"

Better stake your claim ladies.  Or at least make enough on weekends and days the hubby works from home.


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