Winter Woes

About this time of year in the upper peninsula people all start getting the itch for some warmer weather. Trips to tropical destinations start looking pretty good when you are facing days upon days of temperatures only in the high teens and nights well below zero. Combine that with the snow which has now totally encased our mail box (literally, I can only see the little door peaking out of a sea of white) and good old cabin fever starts to set in.

I confess I start getting tired of winter as well, although not as bad as some. I have more of a problem with the mud season that passes for spring around here. No pretty budding trees and little daffodils..... more like mounds of slushy, brown snow, mud-caked, dirt-caked, salt-caked roads, yellow grass, and oh, more dirty snow. And it can last for a couple of months before suddenly bursting into a cool summer. Yeah, I will take the days of endless snow over mud season any time.

The truth is I find winter beautiful. There is something about the starkness, the cool clean of it all that appeals to me. When I step out on a cold winter's day and take a breath I can really feel the air going into my lungs, filling me up, and for a moment I remember how my body breathes in and out like this all day long with no conscious thought on my part. I like the crunch of snow under my boots and the utter silence achieved by winter. I enjoy the fact that I can walk all the way around the lake at my in-laws and never see another living soul (aside from the huge black lab trotting efficiently ahead of me.) I love laying in bed on a cold night tucked contentedly in under a pile of blankets, Clay softly snoring next to me, our house a small haven of warmth and security. I adore curling up on the couch with a cup of hot cocoa, a blanket, one of my cats, and the anticipation of opening a new book. And, the sound of my daughter's laughter as she rides in her snow tube, echoing across the frozen landscape of our neighborhood can certainly thaw the coldest heart.

So, when I am huddling my face in my jacket as I make a run across the parking lot to the grocery store in negative wind chills, I will try to remember what I love about winter and not wish for its hasty departure just yet. After all, next comes mud season.

Attempted Murder?

So, my daughter tried to kill me today. Those of you who have little ones understand this statement immediately. Most parents, especially moms, have the bruises to back a line like that up, and my legs are no exception. However, Isabelle took it to a new level this morning.

For those of you who don't know, I collect snow globes. Every Christmas I get all of them out and display them for the season. I like to keep them all out for a time after the holiday and usually pack them up sometime in February or March. Well, I decided it was time to put the snow globes away today and pulled out the two huge boxes I store all of them in. Isabelle was watching a Valentine's day episode of Dora, while periodically walking her baby doll up and down the living room in its stroller. She was annoyed with me as I kept stepping into her line of sight to retrieve snowglobes off of the entertainment center. I know she was annoyed because even at two she gets a little bit "huffy" and lets out tiny sighs and even says "move mommy," as if I am horribly disturbing her. (Apparently, I should have heeded the signs).

Now I learned how to pack things from my mother, so all original boxes are saved and each snow globe fits in a specific box with specific wrapping and then each individual box fits like a puzzle into the larger boxes. (yes, I know I am a freak) So, needless to say, I was very focused on my task and picked up two snow globes (one in each hand) off the entertainment center. As I rotated around and took a step, Isabelle decided at that exact moment to push her baby doll's umbrella stroller right into my path. I swear this was premeditated. My foot somehow in a sick twist of fate decided to slide in perfectly beneath the fabric seat of the stroller and lodge itself in the metal bars which form an "x." My toes even managed to slip underneath one of the arms of the "x" which bent my foot at an awkward (and I might add, painful) angle. This, of course, was a small problem in comparison to the fact that I was also losing my balance and about to fall into the wood coffee table. Keep in mind I am still holding two snow globes. Somehow I manage to hop on my right foot which was still firmly planted on the carpet and twist my body away from the table. I ended up landing in a less than graceful heap next to it, still cradling the snow globes with a child's stroller wrapped around my left foot (which at this point is bascially screaming in agony as I twisted it further in falling down). Isabelle begins frantically dancing around me clamoring, "It's okay mommy! It's okay mommy!" as I attempt to stifle a few choice swear words itching to break free from my lips. After putting the snow globes down I yank the stroller off of my foot and assess the damage. My foot, while throbbing seems to still be whole and the stroller is not even bent. My mother had bought it for Isabelle and with some foresight purchased one that could withstand not only Isabelle's dolls riding in it but also Isabelle herself. Now, it seems the damn thing is also strong enough to not give way (at all) even when an adult foot becomes wedged in it!

Hours later my foot is now capable of bearing weight and I can walk with only a small amount of discomfort. Upon further inspection a small bruise is forming on the instep, but all in all I am glad to not have worse. I could have just pictured explaining to the doctor how I managed to break my foot on my toddler's doll stroller, partly due to my own stubborness mind you because I was not going to drop those snow globes! Isabelle is, of course, pleading innocence, but I have my doubts. Note to self: in the future do not disturb Isabelle when watching Dora.

Making Choices

I wish that our lives had road signs to tell us what direction we are supposed to take. At least for those big decisions, ya know? Like do I buy this house, go to this college, take this job, marry this guy, or have another child? I would like it if you could see a bit further down the road and know if taking a particular job is going to result in a horrible boss and no raises or if the house you buy and slowly fix up will turn into a fantastic profit for you in the future.


Of course, life doesn't work like that. I just finished this book called "Memory Keeper's Daughter," and while it is about relationships and desires and lots of other issues, it is ultimately all about choices: the ones we make and the ones people make for us, and how even what can seem like a small decision can, in fact, have huge ramifications in our lives later on. So, how do I know I am making the "right" decision then? My husband thinks in a very logical manner and looks at the facts, strictly interpreting the pros and cons and crunching the numbers. I tend to be more of a "gut-feeling" kind of gal and have been known to make rather large decisions based on only an emotion. Case in point: When my parents and I were looking at colleges we looked at the finances, evaluated scholarships, studied curriculums, visited campuses, considered distance from home, etc. Well, I should say they did more of that and informed me what the results were! After looking at five or so I was still undecided. All of them would have been fine I am sure, but none of them drew me in. Then we took a trip up to NMU. I remember driving into Marquette and dipping under the railroad tressle for the oar dock and thinking the town had a certain vibe. It echoed again when I crouched on my knees on a massive boulder at Presque Isle park, the wind trying its best to yank my hair right off of my skull, as I looked out over lake Superior. That vibe, that feeling, mirrored some inner beating of my heart, and I just knew that I was supposed to move to the U.P. and go to school at Northern. Their English program turned out to meet my needs, but honestly all of it was secondary when compared with a simple gut emotion.


The same feeling has surfaced once or twice since. It came with my husband, but it wasn't there instantly. Oh, there was attraction and a spark, but the knowledge that I was going to spend the rest of my life with this man came more like a month or two after we had been dating. However, once there I knew without a single doubt, and truly he could have asked me to marry him probably half a year sooner then he did, and I know I would have said yes.

So, I guess what I have established is that if I have a strong emotional feeling my choice is made. The problem is I have come to realize that it doesn't always prove true for a loved one who wants my help in deciding something, nor is it always accurate when joint decisions must be made. My gut feeling is a strictly personal tool that is unable to be lent out for another's use. I find this incredibly frustrating when I want so badly to help someone I love. Ultimately, we can ask for help and get others opinions, but at the end of the day we have to choose for ourselves. It is a little scary, especially when I apply these thoughts to my daughter and think about her making important life choices as she grows into an adult. I will always want to help the people I care about, but I have to remind myself that sometimes the best way I can help them is to get out of the way and let them choose for themselves.

To Pee or not to Pee, that is the question.

So, we are starting to approach the time that all parents do. Two words: potty training. Yes, the time when we all get back to our basics and get very earthy in our language. If you are at all squeamish about excrement just skip this post (and having children) because as a rule, it will be talked about. Of course, as of right now potty training is more of a game to Isabelle and as such is one that is only periodically played. Some days we only want diapers and never even look, think, or make any move towards the potty. Other days we beg to wear "big girl panties" or pull ups, and we repeatedly sit on the potty.


The problem is that Isabelle is such an energetic child that getting her to actually alight on the potty for more than say..... two minutes is pretty much impossible. Picture a humming bird at a feeder and you have a pretty decent idea of how long she wants to sit. Because of this my darling daughter has yet to put anything in the potty. (Aside from one bowel movement, which I happened to "catch" about two months ago when reading her a book. Anyone who has a toddler is familar with the "push" face. Unfortunately, no such face appears for the liquid variety.) Now, I have some friends who have been able to essentially make their child stay on the potty until something is produced, but these friends do not have a child like Isabelle. Isabelle is not what one would call overly compliant, and while I am more than willing to pick a battle with her when I need to, having a test of wills over using the bathroom is not something I wish to engage in. I want very much for this to be her idea, and I know if I force the issue with her too quickly she will refuse just on principle.


Thus, I am actually finding myself in unfamiliar territory where I let Isabelle call the shots on something. We sit on the potty when she wants to (I try to get her to stay for more then a millisecond by plying her with books) and while I encourage and ask, I am doing my best to not turn into a nazi dictator over using the potty. Most of my fellow moms who have been down this road before me hold to the idea that kids will start using the potty when they are ready and trying to make it happen in my time frame will only result in more work and frustration on my part. And I think I tend to agree. After all, I don't recall anyone say in second grade still clad in diapers, right?


Plus, I sort of understand Isabelle and her wishy-washiness. Some days she tells me she is a big girl and wants to do it all herself, including using the potty, but other days she wants to be "Momma's baby" and be cuddled and hugged and ... well... babied. Hell, I am going to be thirty-two years old, and sometimes I still want my mommy! (Not to wipe my butt mind you, but to make it all better, make the decisions, and be the grown up so I do not have to) So, while I do not rank diaper changing among my favorite things to do it is really no big deal either. And lets face it: kids grow up so fast these days that I am not going to get worked up about Isabelle potty training now or 6 months from now. Even if she hasn't figured it out yet, she is always going to be my baby whether she is two or twenty-two. However, I will gladly take and cherish these times when I can still "fix" everything that is wrong in her world with a kiss and a hug. Sooner or later peeing in the potty will happen. In the meantime let her be my little baby.