Mother Nature is a tease and Punxsutawney Phil is a sadistic, double-minded little rodent with his head up more than his burrow.
I'm not sure which one of them to blame for the weather we are having, but my sinuses and my kids can't take it. Not for one more week.
One day my kids and I spend the afternoon jumping on the trampoline with bare feet, and the next morning they are wearing so many layers they can't put their arms down at their sides. And if there is anything I've learned from the harsh winter we've had this year, it's that I am not cut out for snow.
I realize that the rest of the country slaps their knees and laughs at the South when we run to the store for milk and bread and start running off the road like we've totally forgotten how to drive before the first flake even hits the ground.
I realize that there are people who live and have kids in subzero climates.
But if it's going to snow in the South, the rest of my life is going to have to stop.
Nobody salts our roads, we don't own snow plows, snow shovels or snow boots. I am a thin-skinned Southern girl, and once the weather drops below freezing I can no longer think.
During the first snow of the year, I was still enthusiastic. Snow was a novelty.
I did think I might actually freeze to death and die of hypothermia once the temperature hit 29 degrees.
When I went to bed that night, I wore long-sleeved pajamas, pants and socks. And just in case I might get cold during the night, (in my house, with the heater on) I tossed an extra blanket on the bed.
Even though I'm not used to the cold, I knew we needed to play in the snow as long as my kids could stand it, because who knew when it would snow again?
We went sledding on garbage can lids.
If you grew up in the South, this doesn't confuse you in the least. When you are used to wearing shorts and flip-flops on Christmas Day, you don't usually have a sled in the garage.
My kids tumbled down the small hill in our backyard for several hours, giggling, squealing and throwing snow.
I endured. We built the first snowman of my entire life. We made snow cream.
We embraced the snow the first time around. We frolicked, if you will, in a winter wonderland.
But we rejoiced when Punxsutawney Phil didn't see his shadow.
We bought into his little charade; hook, line and sinker. We went to sleep at night talking about spending days playing outside in the sunshine.
We were fools to believe that monster.
Less than two weeks after his devious stunt, snow fell again in the Mississippi Delta. I tried to be excited. I attempted to get my kids fired up about playing in the snow, but it just wasn't the same. The thrill was gone.
It took me a full 45 minutes to get myself and all three of my daughters dressed to play outside.
I dressed my 6-year-old first, pulling jeans over her leggings and layering t-shirts and sweaters and sent her out in the snow to play.
My 4-year-old was next, and by the time I got her outside I had sweat beading on my upper lip.
By the time I pulled on my insulated underwear and tugged clothes over them, I had sweat on my brow.
Then it was time to chase down my toddler, wrestle her into a diaper and shove her into a few layers of her own.
As I carried her through the house to go outside and join her sisters I heard the kitchen door slam shut.
Emma, my 4-year-old, was standing inside the door, and starting to strip off her clothes.
"What are you doing?" I yelled.
"It's cold!" She cried.
At this point I had sweat pooling in places it's not polite to talk about, so I shook my head. "Nope, get your clothes back on. We are going outside to play. I don't care how cold it is."
We stayed outside a record breaking 20 minutes before I had heard all the whining I could handle and threw in the towel.
As my kids stripped off their layers, I had a mental picture of old Phil and Mother Nature giving each other high-fives and laughing hysterically at me and my thin-skinned friends.
If they insist on toying with the weather and my emotions like this, one of us is going to have to be medicated.
•Robin O'Bryant is a mother to three daughters, author and Greenwood resident. Read more at her blog at www.robinschicks.com or e-mail her at robinschicks@gmail.com.
