It’s fall. And before I rant about it, I’ll admit that I do love a few (very few) things about this season. I enjoy the burnished gold color of the leaves. I get a kick out of Halloween costumes. Pumpkins are cute.
I loved the crispness of the air right around 4pm, which brings back fond memories of playing field hockey back in high school. I adore a good pair of skinny jeans with tall boots.
That being said…
Fall still sucks.
There. I said it. Hating me yet?
First of all… allergies. In a cruel twist of fate, I am allergic to basically the entire world around me. Literally. Trees. Grass. Dust. Leaves; sort of like The Bubble Boy (remember the old John Travolta movie??) minus the bubble.
And when falls comes around, the allergies kick up into high gear. My ears start to itch. My nose starts to run. My throat develops an annoying tickle. And every night in bed, I attempt in vain to clear the back of my throat- snorting and hissing something like this:
(You’re welcome for that fantastic visual… isn’t The Captain lucky?)
Another nasty secret: I hate leaves. I really do. As much as I love their color, I can’t stand the feeling of their dried bits against my hands. You know how kids love to jump into a big pile of raked leaves?
Not this kid. My parents have the obligatory picture of me sitting in a leaf pile. Glaring at the camera.
But the main reason that I despise fall?
IT’S FRIGGING COLD.
And it precedes winter, which is even FRIGGING COLDER.
Before you even get indignant, I will fully acknowledge that in terms of temperature, I am a big fat baby. Well, actually, I am a skinny, complaining baby.
I’m one of those people that bundle up under three layers of clothing on 60 degree days while moaning about how cold they are. And whine about how my toes are turning numb.
I know, I know. I know places like Alaska are already probably experiencing sub-zero temperatures. I bet there are areas here in the Northeast that have recently experienced snowfall. I get that comparatively speaking, the 56 degree day we had today is not so bad.
But I don’t care. Because to me, it was FRIGGING COLD TODAY.
I am positive that I am not genetically made for life in cold temperatures. I LOVE summer. Give me a sweltering hot day- any day. I could live in tank tops and flip flops and be perfectly happy. I crave sunshine and warmth.
As soon as the temperature starts to dip below 70, I begin to wilt like… the basil that is now a wilted mess in my garden. It’s ruined, because it’s FRIGGING COLD.
I hate it. I hate the feeling of getting out of bed and having my feet hit a cold floor. I dread bundling up in layer after layer of clothing and still not feeling warm enough. The minute the shower water is turned off, I’m cringing behind the curtain, ready to curl into a tiny fetal ball the second the cold air creeps over the curtain.
(Another fun mental image for you. Again, you’re welcome.)
Today was one of those days where I could feel the cold seeping into my bones; it was a chillier day than usual here. Nevertheless, it was still a bright, sunny day, so we were determined to carry out our original plans, which were to attend my our family’s picnic at the local county park.
…Which now brings me to yet another reason that I despise cold weather.
Gloves. Hats. Coats. Scarves.
For six kids. (sigh)
Even though we keep most of these items in a bin, sifting through the bin to find matching glove pairs and well-fitting hats is sort of like going on a mining expedition: messy and unpredictable, with the possibility of a (verbal profanity-fueled) explosion.
Even after finding these items and distributing them- while issuing warnings to keep the items on their person- I still end up having to collect various mittens, gloves, and hats that are scattered on the ground like Hansel & Gretel’s breadcrumb trail.
But find them, I did.
A beaming #6. This was BEFORE he was bundled into a snowsuit resembling the Stay-Puff Marshmallow Man.
Now, we knew it was chilly; some of our family members had headed to the park before us to set up our picnic site. But fall picnics are a heralded family activity, and there was no way any of us wanted to bail on the plan despite the cold.
But it was FRIGGING COLD.
And FRIGGING WINDY!
Ugh. Instead of flying kites, tossing horseshoes, and playing softball, we all ended up huddling around the BBQ grills, angling for the best bits of sunshine, and generally just being cold.
On the upside, potty runs were much fought-over endeavors. It was a pleasure to escort the kids to the park bathroom, because it was warm in there. And the hand-dryer blew hot air, which was convenient…
Me, to Kids: “How ’bout another juice box?? Want another?? Need to pee yet?? I’ll take you!”
The kids had a blast. Well, most of them did.
Except this one:
Poor #5. Thank God for cheese doodles. And Barney on Netflix.
I loved watching the kids run around in excitement, squealing in delight and playing with one another. They had a blast chasing each other, chasing balloons, chasing the brownie tray.
Just like my cousins and I used to do. Which is why our family picnics are a time-honored tradition in our family. Which is also why we were all determined to go ahead with our plan; each family carving time out of busy schedules to get together. It was precious to bring our children together to eat, laugh, and bond.
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It was truly heart-warming to spend quality time with beloved cousins, aunts, uncles, and kids. Heart-warming.
Not hand-warming. Or ear-warming.
Because those body parts were FRIGGING COLD!
© Copyright 2013 Six Pack Mom, All rights Reserved. Written For: Six Pack Mom