DESERET NEWS
December 1992
Wet boots drying on the heater vent,
Mittens scattered all about,
I finally see what my dear mom meant,
when she said winter wore her out!
Winter wears me out, too. Ever since Jack Frost dumped his first load of powder on the lawn this year, I've spent my days zipping coats, buttoning boots, hunting lost mittens, arguing with my children about what they may or may not wear outdoors, and mopping up pond-sized puddles in the house.
It wouldn't be so bad if my kids, having gone through the tedious process of preparing to frolic in nature's frozen playground, would just go out and stay out. But, like all tots dedicated to the proposition that their mothers can and should be driven crazy, they follow a sacred childhood ritual:
1. First you get your winter clothes, being sure to drag everyone else’s is out too, and scatter them in an even layer three feet deep around the living room floor.
2. Next, you get semi-hysterical, because one of your favorite Mickey Mouse mittens has a hole in the thumb and you can't even find its mate.
3. Only after Mommy has spent at least 42 minutes hunting your missing mitten and mending the moth-eaten one, do you allow her to tug, pull, and stuff your squirmy body into a complete ensemble of winter attire, minus the goofy earmuffs you had the foresight to hide in your underwear drawer.
4. Then, you decide you have to go potty.
5. When you have answered nature's call and Mom has repeated step three above (except for the part about the mittens), this time stopping to retrieve the boot your dog dragged under the couch, do you finally venture outside long enough to get:
a. completely soaked;
b. icicles hanging from your nose;
c. enough snow clinging to your clothes to make a snowman feel jealous!
6. At some point, meaning after you've spent at least five minutes exploring Winter's Wonderland, you come back inside, bringing all ten of your very closest buddies (and a few you’ve never seen before), for the first of many warm-up sessions, spilling steaming mugs of hot chocolate and gobbling enough donuts to dust the floor with a fine layer of powdered sugar.
7. Then, you repeat the whole process ten more times, each time with Mom cheerfully ready at the door to bundle everyone up to go back outside.
When evening finally comes, and Daddy gets home from work to find his wife collapsed on the couch and talking to the ceiling, you casually say something like, “Gee, Mom, I'll bet you got a lot done today with us kids playing outside the way we did!”
