As Nora stepped into the 31 degree sunny warmth today, puffs of breath just barely visible as she exhaled, she exclaimed, "Ahhh...I love summer."
Yes. I remember the first "warm" days in college. There would be pasty white legs sporting shorts and lounging on blankets amongst the shrinking snow piles. Today, Madeline ran to pick up Nora from school wearing her sundress with some grudgingly clad leggings underneath. It was 42 degrees. I'm still baffled daily by the ridiculous similarities between college kids and actual kids.
Growing up in South Dakota, my winter (and large chunks of fall and spring) activities were built around cracked, dry hands, below zero temps, constant biting winds, traveling with winter survival kits in the car and shrinking snow piles into May. I even remember it snowing one year during homecoming in September, the swirling snowflakes gently landing on my nearly frozen fingers, which were sluggishly attempting to squeak the fight song out of my flute.
A couple years ago, Nick and I decided to make a concerted effort to not complain about the weather. We are trying to cultivate an overall attitude of gratitude for what we have rather than fixating on the imperfections in life. So we figured the best way to start is with the weather...you can't control it anyway. In most of the places we have lived, the weather is only ideal for a month or two a year, so we can either spend 10 months lamenting the imperfect weather or find ways to enjoy it. I even made a resolution to spend time outside every single day, which, I'm proud to say, up until this winter, I have mostly kept.