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It’s Not Me…It’s You

No. Really. It’s you, and we just can’t be friends…at least not until next spring.

As awesome as I know you probably are, lingering to talk in the parking lot after drop-off, or church, or the gym or whatever, just isn’t going to happen…at least not until next spring…and by “spring” I mean late spring, like early June, realistically.

You see, it’s you…it’s not me.

You’re all, “Oooooh, boots and snowflakes and mittens and hot cocoa and blankies and baking and peppermint mocha lattes…”

And I’m all, “Dear God, make me a bird, a tropical bird, so I can fly far…far, far away…to the south, preferably Mexico…southern Mexico.”



You are from here, born and raised. Your blood really is thicker. You are stronger and somehow instinctually capable of regulating your body temperature to adjust to arctic temps. You actually like building snow men and snow forts and jumping into snow drifts with your kids.

I am from the desert. Although I’ve been gone from there for 25 years, I’m cold-blooded. I’m actually a reptile…even have the scaly skin to prove it. My blood is cold and I require external heat sources like rocks, heated blankets, hot tile, saunas, the sun, steamy mugs of tea, and my husbands back and calves, to supply heat to my icy hands and frozen toes. I love my children and therefore, two times each winter, I pretend to be gleefully happy putting on 17 layers of clothing and “enjoying” time together, OUTSIDE…because in winter, apparently, you can’t do that INDOORS? #thingsparentsdointhenameoflove


(My attempt at “snowparenting”…all in the name of love…)

I have to wrap my kidneys under my clothing just to keep my blood from frosting over. It’s a thing.


The fur ball pom poms add bulk under clothing, but warmth is more important than appearances.

For you, ice is something you seek out, like ask for it in your beverages, pay money to skate on it, and even know how to drive on.

Heck, you even have winter festivals and carnivals where you walk around, outside, in the bitter cold, to find medallions, because? Well, I’m not sure why, but you do.

For me, ice is like the devil himself. I actually think hell might be sub-zero, not so much hot, since hot-ness would be amaze-balls. Frosty freezers hurt my bones like nails on a chalkboard, cold drinks make my whole body shiver, and, just thinking about coldness makes me want to cry.

So, please don’t take offense. I’m out. Unreachable. Going into hibernation and I won’t be coming up for breath until next spring. It’s up to you if you want to be friends with me…there is criteria during the next 4-6 months, depending on El Niño and global warming and if spring actually happens on March 21st of 2016.

The criteria is this:

  • If you want to be friends, you’ll have to come to me, because leaving the house would require me to GO OUTSIDE, and since it’s winter, ima gonna try not to do that…however, I can come to you if you have one or more of the following:

I really do think we could have a grand friendship, but it’s not really up to me, is it? Since it’s you, not me, who knows how to weather this season.

Until then…



  1. We may be related. It is a real thing! Thanks for capturing it words.

  2. Adrienne, I think you are amaze-balls. I promise not to start a convo in the frozen parking lot. Although I’ve lived in the tundra my whole life, I still hate being out in the elements. And yes, I believe hell is an icy cold wasteland, and heaven is a tropical paradise. Ahhh…heaven!

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