First Threat

We had to run some errands after dinner this evening and in order to speed the process along, I elected to stay in the car with the kids while McMoose ran inside. Our longest stop was to sign Luke up for a little gymnastics/sports class, so McMoose took Luke in with him so Luke could meet the instructor. Weston was most displeased with being left in the car with me instead of getting to go into the brightly colored building. After asking to go in about, oh, three-hundred-and-fourteen times and being told no about, oh, three-hundred-and-fourteen times, he decided that he needed to change his tactics.

Weston: Mama! Get me out! I need to go potty!
Me: Seriously?
Weston: Yes, get me out, get me out! I need to go potty inside the gym building!
Me: Ok, ok...but I think it's more that you want to go into the building than that you need to go potty.
Weston: Yes, I do want to go into the building.

So we run inside, I take him potty, he squeezes out a couple of drops of pee and then gleefully says he's done, knowing full well that he pulled off a major shenanigan.

About five minutes later, we stopped to get gas on the way home and he wanted to go into the gas station building.

Weston: Mama! I need to go potty again! I need to go potty in the gas station!
Me: You do not. You just peed.
Weston: I need to go AGAIN!
Me: We will be home in five minutes and you can go again there.
Weston: I NEED TO GO RIGHT NOW!!!
Me: No.
Weston: Then I will pee in mine underwear and in mine pants and it will be messy.

Oh, good. I'm so glad we're at two-and-a-half already. Now the real fun begins. (That was sarcasm. Heavy, overhanded sarcasm. In case you were wondering.)

Working Hard

The kids were heading out to play in the snow for 30 minutes between lunch and nap/quiet time and I mentioned to Luke that they could shovel the back stairs if they wanted. I am a person who frequently asks my children to help with things--folding the laundry, picking up toys, making meals--because it's important to me that they know about and participate in the work of keeping a family going. At the same time, I was fully expecting the gentle request about shoveling the stairs to go in through one ear and out through the other because I wasn't invested in making them help. It really was just some information--"The temperature is going to drop soon, which means that all that snow on the porch stairs will probably freeze into ice and make the stairs slippery by this evening,"--coupled with a suggestion--"If you boys are looking for something to do out there, you might consider shoveling the snow off the stairs."

Imagine my surprise when, five minutes later, two little boys were surveying the stairs, plastic shovels in hand, and discussing where to start. (Background: The back stairs consist of exactly five stairs.) In the end, they decided to start at the bottom stair and use their shovels to break up the ice and snow and then scrape it off the stair. Except that instead of pushing it off the side of each stair, they were pushing it down onto the stair below, so they had to re-do the whole set each time.

Oh, dear. This would take forever. Maybe I should go help. I could let them do the bottom stair while I quickly did the rest. Or I could go and suggest that they start at the top stair, or at least that they push the snow off the sides so they didn't have to keep repeating their work. Or at the very least, I could go out there and monitor more closely.

See, even though I ask them to help me with other tasks all the time, this felt different. Bigger, somehow, like a job that should be done by a pre-teen rather than a preschooler. They would have to break up the ice, push the snow off, and do it all while keeping their balance on the stairs. And, perhaps the most difficult part of the task, they would have to communicate and work together to avoid being conked over the head--either accidentally or intentionally--by a shovel-weilding brother.

And then, I took a deep breath and picked my knitting back up and hoped that I was making the right call. Yes, this was a hard job--but it was one that they chose, either because they thought it would be fun or because they thought the work was valuable and worth doing. And if it got too hard, I trusted that they would either walk away or ask for help. Yes, they were hanging out on stairs--but there were only five stairs and they were sitting down, so they were pretty well balanced. Yes, their snow-clearance plan wasn't the most efficient, but it was getting the job done. Yes, I could have stopped a couple of little squabbles about whether someone was infringing on someone else's space, but they will spend the rest of their lives working out little (and big) misunderstandings with other people--and in most cases, I will not be there to help. Might as well practice now, when the stakes are low and I'm watching from the other side of the window to step in if I'm really needed.

I stayed inside and watched as the job became fully their own. Their ideas, their process of trial-and-error in implementing those ideas, their laughter as they both tried to work on the same stubborn patch of icy snow, their attention to detail as they made sure every speck of snow was off the stairs. We have clean stairs now...and more importantly, we have two little boys who came inside, red-cheeked from the cold and the work, and exclaimed with great pride that the stairs were all clean. Two little boys whose faces shone with the satisfaction of doing a job their way from start to finish. Two boys who got to feel capable and helpful. And a Mama who got to see two boys grow up, just a tiny bit, right in front of her eyes.

Platypuses

You know how kids are supposed to ask lots of questions and parents are supposed to have (or be able to fake) the answers? I think there's a bit of role reversal going on around here.

Luke: You know, platypuses have a stinger.
Me: They do?
Luke: Yes, I read about it in a book. Scientists are not sure what it's for and some scientists think it isn't really functional.
Me: Oh?
Luke: But I think that it is functional. Like if a lion or a tiger tried to eat a platypus, I think it would sting them.
Me: Hmm.
Luke: Except platypuses live in Australia and lions and tigers live in Africa and Asia, so...ok, maybe if a ball of lightning came into the platypus' path, then it would sting the lightning.
Me: Would that help the platypus though, to sting a ball of lightning?
Luke: Well, no, because lightning is not a living creature. So ok, if a crocodile or an alligator came to eat the platypus, it could sting them.
Me: True.
Luke: Except alligators only live on two continents and one is North America, but I don't remember the other one. Maybe it's Australia, but I'm guessing not. There are crocodiles there, though. Maybe in the ocean.
Me: I don't think crocodiles tend to live in the ocean.
Luke: Well, salt water crocodiles do.

I find myself in the curious position of needing to fact check my preschooler. Here are some of my questions (and their corresponding answers, as revealed by the wealth of knowledge that is nationalgeographic.com.)

1. Do platypuses really have stingers? (Male platypuses do, indeed, have a stinger on their foot and that they are venomous.)

2. Do platypuses really live in Australia? (Yes, they do.)

3. I was kind of under the impression that platypuses are extinct. But maybe I'm thinking of the Dodo bird. (Platypuses are not extinct. Dodo birds are, which I already knew. Dodo birds are also entirely irrelevant to the rest of this post. Why am I still talking about Dodo birds?)

4.  Do scientists really think the stinger is non-functional? (Um...No? I don't know where he got this bit of information, but it sounds so much like a quote from a book that I have a hard time believing that he made it up and phrased it that way. I mean, functional? Does he even know what that means?)

5. Do alligators really only live on two continents? And if so, which ones? (Yes. North America and Asia.)

6. Are there crocodiles in Australia? (Yes. I actually thought that this was the case, but when I started questioning everything else about this conversation, I realized that I wasn't 100% sure.)

7. Do saltwater crocodiles live in the oceans around Australia? (Yes.)

I feel like I've just written a grade-school report on Platypuses. Also, I should clearly introduce him to nationalgeographic.com.

Snow!

It's snowing tonight and this is by far the most snow I've ever experienced in Raleigh. Luke was too tired and ornery to go out to play in it, but Weston and I spent the better part of an hour traipsing around our neighborhood.

"See the snow-drops, Mama?"

We had to go get the shovel from the sandbox so he could "dig" the snow.

Catching snowflakes on his tongue. He learned pretty fast that it's a good idea to keep his eyes closed.

We made a few snow angels on sidewalks around the neighborhood. I'm pretty sure they're already covered up by new snow, but he liked talking about how our neighbors would find the snow angels in the morning.

He loved the snow so much, he didn't want to come in even after he started saying that his nose hurt from the cold. Happy, red-faced boy.

At some point in my life, I became the kind of person who, upon realizing at 9:30 pm that all the kids' mittens are dirty, decides that making new mittens would be easier than doing the laundry. Also, the kind of person who has enough fleece sitting around my house to make that happen. Huh.

Weston Says...

Every time we drop Luke off at school, Weston and I have the same little discussion. [Background: parents and siblings say good-bye to the preschoolers in the lobby and a teacher walks the kids upstairs to the classrooms. Halfway up the stairs, there's a window and the kids wave to the parents as the parents leave the building.]

Weston: I want to go upstairs!
Me: Let's go wave to Luke, instead.
Weston: Nooo! I want to go upstaiiiirs!
Me: West, we will come and help them with their morning Centers again soon and when we do, you can go upstairs. Not today, though. [More background: we've gone upstairs a few times to "help" with the first part of their day, which is basically free play. So helping in this case means hanging out, chatting with preschoolers, and letting Weston get accustomed to the surroundings since he'll start school there in August.]
Weston: I want to go today! Luke-bear, I want to go with yoouuuu! Let me goooo! You go home, Mama. I will go upstairs and plaaaayyyy!


Weston discovered a toy screwdriver and has been carrying it around everywhere. This morning, when we were on our way to pick Luke up from school, we had this conversation in the car...

Weston: I bringed my screwdriver in the car.
Me: I saw that. Are you planning to fix things in the car?
Weston: Oh, no! There are no screws in the car! I wonder why I didn't bring any screws.
Me: I wonder, too.
Weston: Ohhhh, it's because there are no little screws in our house.


And later this afternoon, the kids were finishing up their lunch while I re-filled the bird feeder. When I came back inside...
Weston: Mama! You didn't see me!
Me: I what?
Weston: You didn't see me. I saw you from the window and I waved and waved and waved. I want you go back out there and wave to me.

Magical Thinking

Sometimes, I go about my day, talking to the kids and carrying on like normal and I forget that they're still really very little. And that they have very little concept of how the world works.

Luke, trying to poke a magnolia-cone (like a pinecone, but from a magnolia tree...what are they called??) into the ground: Nothing's happening!
Me: What were you hoping to have happen?
Luke: I'm planting it, so it should grow into a magnolia tree and it's not doing that.
Me: Well...trees take a long time to grow. Remember?
Luke: I don't HAVE a long time! I want it to grow right now! Just plant it for me so it will grow!
[Life lesson: I cannot make things grow instantly. I am not magic.]

Weston, trying to get blocks to stay up in an impossible configuration: My tower falls dowwwwnnn!
Me: Bummer! How disappointing.
Weston: Tower! Stay up! I telled my tower, "stay up!"
Me: Yes, I heard you. You said it very loudly. Do you think it will help?
Weston, stacking them back up and watching them fall back down: Mama! I want you make my tower stay up!
[Life lesson: I cannot defeat the law of gravity. I am not magic.]

Someday, they'll learn that plants take time to grow and that you must consider center of gravity when building a tower and that I'm not magic. I hope that day is a long time coming.

Cute Things

On Tuesday night, we had some snow (keyword: some. As in, a very little bit. A dusting, perhaps.) and on Wednesday morning, it was still on the ground, so the kids went out in the yard to play with it. When we witnessed some snow during our Thanksgiving trip to Virginia, they were excited about it for all of two minutes before declaring that it was too cold, so I was expecting more of the same. Instead, they stayed out for about 30 minutes, which is impressive considering that they complain about being cold when it's 60 degrees out. (I do, too, come to think of it.) Finally, Luke came back in because his face got too cold...

Me: Is your brother coming in, too?
Luke: I told him he should because his face might get cold, too, but he told me he wasn't cold.
Me: Oh, ok.
Luke: But then, he took off his mittens and his hands got cold, so he wants help putting his mittens back on. I assume that means he's still planning to stay out there because why would he want to put his mittens back on if he's coming inside?

(I really like it when he narrates his thoughts like that. Especially when he does it using phrases like "I assume." It makes me want to smush-and-nom him, which, I assure you, is much more loving than it sounds.)


Last night, we decided to have movie night and since Luke and I had just finished reading Charlotte's Web for the second time, we thought it would be fun to watch the movie. Weston was fine until the end, when Templeton (the rat) took the egg sac and brought it down to Wilbur (the pig) so they could carry it back to the barn because Charlotte was dying at the fair. (Um. That was a terrible summary, I know. Sorry.) At that point, he started trying to climb out of his chair and was doing his "I'm trying to keep it together, but I really want to cry," snuffle.

Me: West? Are you ok?
Weston, starting to cry: Pick me up!
Me, picking him up: Of course I will. Are you sad about the movie?
McMoose: Are you sad that Charlotte died?
West: No! I sad because the rat bit Charlotte's web and the pig put the web in his mouth.
Me: That was the egg sac, West. There were eggs in there with baby spiders inside.
West: Oh.
Me: The rat was helping. He was doing a good thing so they could take the baby spiders back to the cozy barn.
West: The rat bit the egg sac. I saaaad.

I find it fascinating that he can be so empathetic and concerned about a fictional spider, but has no problem spending all day manhandling his brother. (Then again, what good is a brother if you can't poke, push, climb on, tackle, and generally annoy him?)

Balance

Yesterday was a cooking, baking, cleaning, going to parent-teacher conferences, running errands kind of day. I felt like a superstar because I accomplished in one day what it usually takes me at least three.

Today is making up for yesterday. There are crumbs on the table and crumbs on the floor. Dirty laundry that needs to be washed and clean laundry that needs to be folded. Toys everywhere. Markers scattered across the coffee table. Dishes that I just don't even want to talk about.

But we did get to play in (a small amount) of snow. And we did get to read books before naptime. And we did eat a rather obscene amount of spinach with our lunch. And I did have the foresight to bake chicken and potatoes for our lunch. And we did get to measure ourselves to figure out how we stack up to a grown tiger. (In case you're curious, it would take two Lukes to make up one tiger, a fact which he finds inexplicably exciting.) And we did speculate about whether and why polar bears hibernate, given that they enjoy and are well-suited for the snow and ice. And Weston and I did get to listen to Luke recite a couple of amusing books he has recently read. (He memorizes books. I can barely remember their titles. Fun times.)

Some days get to be productive. On some days, it's easy to see what we've done all day and easier still to be proud of all we've accomplished. Other days get to be lazy and seemingly unproductive and filled with moments of quiet discovery and connection. The accomplishments might be harder to point out on those days, but the sense of satisfaction in a day well-lived is so much higher.

Mini-Personal Trainer

Working out at the gym: I have to get into my car and go somewhere, there are strangers there, other sweaty people have touched the equipment, there are strangers there, the mirrors everywhere are both bothersome and disorienting, the equipment is mildly intimidating, and oh, have I mentioned the strangers who are there?

Working out outside: It's lovely. Nature and birds and squirrels and tranquility and all of that. I love a good walk on a trail. Except there is a thing in Washington DC called the murder trail or the rape trail or something like that. And although I do not live in DC, I feel that a murderer or rapist could just as easily work in North Carolina. And also, it rains sometimes and it's cold sometimes and people on bikes forget to say, "Passing on the left" sometimes and then, they almost run you over. And when we go on the trail, the kids want to walk or ride their bikes or pick up 284 sticks to carry around and none of these are conducive to a good, aerobic work out.

Working out in my living room while watching an exercise program on tv: It's convenient. And free. And I don't have to worry about getting someone to watch the kids. And there's even an added comedic bonus: Weston spends the whole time repeating phrases he hears from the personal trainer on the tv or correcting my form. Things like, "Use the opposite arm, opposite leg, Mama." "One leg up, two arms up, Mama." "This is hard, isn't it, buddy?" "If you want to get the results, then you have to put in the work!" And every time I do any mat work, he tells me I look like a bridge and then attempts to crawl under me, so my muscles get to do the extra work of holding a position for long enough to let him go past.

Guess which workout option I've been choosing lately...

Bureau-crazy

I'm going through the process of renewing my (um...expired) passport and because I'm still an Indian citizen, I've had the joy of going through the Indian consulate. That process has gone something like this:

1. Locate all necessary documents. This is like a little treasure hunt. The links to most of the documents are either missing or broken. Several of the documents are referenced in a rather off-hand way, but no mention is made of where one might find such a document. In one case, a document is called "Thai passport checklist." You are not applying for a Thai passport, but since it's included in the list of required documents, you fill it out anyway.

2. Fill out two pages of an application online. Print. Fill the rest out by hand. (For what reason?)

3. Include 11 copies of a passport photo. (Each order of passport pictures comes with two pictures. For $12. I'll let you do the math on that one.)

4. Include a notarized copy of every identifying document you have. Every single one. Oh, and while you're at it, include copies of your spouse's identifying documents, too. (Have you ever asked someone to notarize a copy of your mortgage bill? They look at you like you've lost your everloving mind.)

5. Fill out the same form eight times, by hand. (This serves as punishment for letting your passport expire in the first place, I suppose.)

6. Go to Walgreens and ask them to take a passport photo of you AND your spouse together. (They will also look at you like you've lost your mind. Because let's think about this for a minute. If you already have a notarized copy of our marriage certificate AND notarized copies of the spouse's identifying documents, then what exactly does a joint picture prove?)

7. Fill out an online order form for the passport. But before you can do that, you need a tracking number for your package. Oh, but you can't mail your package before you do the order form because after you fill out the order form, they email you a receipt and that receipt has to be included with your package. That was a fun puzzle to solve! (If you ever find yourself in this ridiculous situation, the answer is that you have to register online with a delivery company and create a shipment and print out the shipping labels and tracking information and then fill out the order form for the passport and then put everything together, go to the delivery company, buy an envelope, affix the shipping labels you printed out at home, and then send it out.)

8. Four days later, get a phone call from a very harried young man telling you that you forgot to sign things twice. I was under the impression that since I was signing every page of paper in front of me, that would be enough. I was incorrect. I needed to sign some of those pieces of paper TWICE. On two signature lines that were right beside each other. Sure. Makes complete sense.

9. The now double-signed papers need to be notarized, of course. Except the phone call came at 5 pm on a Friday. Banks are closed on Saturday and Sunday and even Monday, if that Monday happens to be a national holiday. Luckily, UPS has a notary on staff. Huzzah!

10. Pay extra for the service of having the package delivered within 18 hours. (Did you even know you could do such a thing? I had no idea!) Because the harried man promised that he would hold your package "for a few days," but you have no idea what will happen at the end of those few days or whether he's counting calendar days or business days or even how many days count as "a few."

11. Wait. And hope. And pray. (My biggest hope at the moment is that they will put my name on my passport rather than McMoose's name. The harried man seemed very confused by the prospect of a passport with a first, middle, and last name. Furthermore, he offered to put McMoose's name on there and when I said that would not work for the purposes of, oh, traveling anywhere, he seemed confused as to why not.)

What Weston Wants, Part 2

The other day, I was cleaning the bathroom while McMoose was getting Weston ready for bed. Weston kept asking me to do things for him--help with his pajama's, put on his lotion, etc--and I kept replying that I couldn't because I was cleaning, but that McMoose could help. It was a bit of a ploy on my part because over the past few weeks, he has become much more resistant to McMoose helping him with anything and we're trying to ease McMoose back into place as the person who takes care of all baths and putting-to-bed.

I finished up with the cleaning just as McMoose and Weston finished reading their second bedtime book.

Weston, speaking to McMoose: I want you read this one now.
McMoose: No, we already read two. We're all done now.
Weston: Mama, what are you doing?
Me: Putting things away.
Weston: Are you done cleaning?
Me, preoccupied with putting everything back: Yes.
Weston: You done cleaning the bathroom?
Me: Yes, Weston.
Weston: You done cleaning the shower?
Me: Yes.
Weston: ...Then you can read me a book now!

What Weston Wants, Part 1

Wednesdays are kid's nights at a nearby Mexican restaurant and they have a magician who comes around to each table and does a few tricks and makes the kids (and sometimes, the adults) a balloon animal. It had been a while since we had been there, so we decided to go tonight. Throughout the meal, Weston insisted on sharing with me...

Weston, holding out a half-eaten chip: Here, Mama.
Me: Huh, you know, you can eat that. I'll just get another out of the basket.
Weston, still holding out the half-eaten chip: HERE, MAMA.
Me: Fine, I'll take it. Thank you.
Weston, grinning: I shared a chip with Mama!

That scene repeated itself with several more chips and a french fry. And then, his true purpose was revealed...

(For reference, my "meal" consisted of an enormous bowl of bean and cheese dip because it is amazing and I did not want anything else to take up room in my stomach and prevent the eating of more dip. Therefore, I fully intended on eating every bit of the dip myself without help from McMoose or the kids.)
Weston: Can I have some dip?
Me: This is my dinner. You may eat your dinner instead.
Weston: No, Mama. We share. It nice to share.
Me: ..............FINE. We share.

Many Questions, Few Answers

The last time we took an animal to the vet, it was to have him put down and Weston is halfway convinced that The Dog is still living at the vet's office. So when I made an appointment to take the cats in for their annual visit and shots, I decided it would be a good idea to explain to both of them exactly why we were going and what was going to happen and especially to reassure Luke, who has recently taken a great liking to Yellow Cat, that the cats will indeed be returning home with us.

Luke: But why do they need shots?
Me: Because shots help keep them from getting sick.
Luke: That makes no sense to me. How do shots do that?
Me: They have dead viruses in them and the dead viruses can't make us sick because they're dead, but they let our immune system see what that kind of virus looks like and then, our immune system can make antibodies.
Luke: Make what?
Me: Antibodies are...things that help us fight off viruses. Like little soldiers that live in our body and kill viruses that come in. But each virus needs a different antibody, so that's why we need different shots.
Luke: Ok, but how does the antibody know which virus to kill?
Me: It can only kill the one it fits. Think of a jigsaw puzzle. You know how you have to get the pieces in just the right spot or they don't fit? Well, your body has to have just the right antibody to fit the virus that comes in.
Luke: But how does the antibody kill the virus?
Me: Hm...maybe...I guess...Um...It just...Uh...That's a very good question.


We were later discussing which of our electronics are battery-operated and which ones have to plug into an outlet.

Luke: But all things that do something have batteries.
Me: Not necessarily. Some get their power to do things from batteries, but others get their power by being plugged into an outlet.
Luke: What's power?
Me: Power is...being able to do something, some work.
Luke: But how does a battery make the power?
Me: It...there's a circuit...and...an anode...and...I have no idea how to explain this to you.


And a couple of days later, we were discussing tornadoes.

Luke: Dada said a tornado could pick up a house.
Me: Uh-huh.
Luke: And probably a car.
Me: Uh-huh.
Luke: How does a tornado pick things up?
Me: Because it has really strong winds.
Luke: But really strong winds blow things down. How would it pick things up?
Me: Because...um, the winds go in a circle...and there's an updraft...which I guess is a wind that goes up.
Luke: When there's a circle of water in the drain, it still goes down, so it would be a down draft.
Me: Yeah, I know. I don't know. Maybe we should read more about tornadoes.


And another day, we were talking about the gates at the railroad crossing.
Luke: What if there was a crossing with no gates?
Me: Drivers would have to check the tracks to make sure that no trains are coming before going across them, just like we check to make sure that no cars are coming before we walk across the road.
Luke: What if you check the tracks and no trains are coming and you start to go across and then the motor in your car stops working?
Me: Stops working while you're still on the tracks?
Luke: Yeah. What would you do then?
Me: You would get out of the car and help get all the other people and animals out of the car and you would move away from the car, just in case a train comes.
Luke: Then what?
Me: I guess you'd call someone to let them know that your car is stuck on the tracks so they could get a message to the train engineers to let them know they have to stop.
Luke: Call who?
Me: ...911, maybe? 911 is usually the number you call for emergencies.
Luke: And what would you tell them?
Me: That your car was stuck on the tracks and that you need help.
Luke: What if there was more than one railroad crossing? How would they know which train to stop?
Me: You'd tell them which road you were on, I guess. Or tell them the things that were around you, like stores or gas stations.
Luke: What if there were no buildings and no people and you didn't even know the name of the road?
Me: ...I don't know.
Luke: I think this would be something important to know about, don't you?


The phrase, "Let's get a book about that the next time we go to the library," has been uttered on a near-daily basis around here recently.

Interior Decorating

This is Luke's preferred way of decorating the house. Some day, when the kids are grown, I'll miss having pages of stick figures and stickers hanging by pipe cleaners from our doorknobs.

Insomnia

Thought process at 9 pm: The bed is so soft and warm...maybe I'll just lie here with Weston while he falls asleep. I'm sure it'll just take a few minutes.

Thought process at midnight: Huh. I fell asleep. In my jeans. With my contacts still in. And the light on. I have to get up and get ready for bed, but I'm so tired that I bet I'll have no problem falling back asleep.

Thought process at 3:53 am: Why am I still awaaaaaaaaake?!?

Protecting Peace

The most peaceful moments I've ever experienced have involved trudging through newly fallen snow that came up to my shins. Cold and wet and shivering, I'd get to a wide open space and stop, watching the puffs of my own breath, listening to the muffled sounds of the far-off world.

Winter in Raleigh does not involve that kind of snow. My current life does not involve that kind of silence. My soul craves that kind of peace.

January is my very least favorite month, followed closely by February. Too little light, too much scraping ice off the windshield. (Every time I scrape ice, I feel annoyed that it isn't snow. There is just no upside to ice.) Each January, I slip farther into...I am loathe to call it seasonal depression because that seems too forceful a term...perhaps seasonal apathy. I have no preferences. I have no opinions. Everything seems to take more energy than I care to expend. Maybe it's my version of hibernation because I'd just as well huddle into a blanket and stay there until the world goes green again.

But this past year, October was hard and November was long and the early part of December involved a lot of apathy. It simply could not continue for two more months. And so this year, I'm not waiting for happiness. In fact, I'm not even seeking happiness. I'm seeking peace. Contentment. Calm. I'm putting myself in a bubble that involves less reading of the news, less scrolling through facebook while feeling guilty about wasting time, less television. More music that feeds my soul, more exercise that wakes my body, more time being present in my life instead of racing on to check off the next item on my to-do list. This time, I'm not waiting to stumble upon a snow-covered field and find peace. I'm searching it out, cultivating it, cupping my hand around its flickering flame and protecting it from the January winds.