January | 2014 | Looking for the Sweet Spot

Yesterday, I went to the bank. Exciting, I know. But, I made a crucial discovery in the process. You see, as I dumped into the teller’s space my unfinished deposit items, I expressed apologies for my inability to perform the simplest of math required to complete the deposit slip. “That’s ok” she generously replied, “It’s too cold to think”. In the words of Pre-Teen, who immortalized the phrase in our family after discovering a London street we had inadvertently walked down late one night was the “gay party street”…

”That explains a lot!!!”.

Too cold to think! Of course! Suddenly all was explainable. It explained why I can’t seem to write a blog to save my life (which aside from my recent run-in with a barbed wire fence hasn’t really been necessary), why I have been driving in circles on country roads in the quest to deliver my sons to sporting events (because how else to explain that after 12 years, I still have not mastered country-style direction following), and why I can’t seem to put two words together or remember anyone’s name (cause, like, in no way could that be age or anything).

Honestly, the whole Polar Vortex thing is getting on my nerves. Aside from the “too cold to think” phenomenon (which, seriously, is the last thing I need as my thinking abilities are challenged under the warmest of conditions), and the fact that I can’t leave the house without cursing at the wind like a crazy lady, and those weather-chicken school officials who keep making my kids stay home with me, stuck in the house being bored, instead of in school annoying the teachers, (don’t they know waiting at the bus stop in sub-zero weather builds character?), there are the questions.

For example, my husband, asking me every single morning – like my uterus is somehow hard wired into the Doppler radar – “What is the weather forecast for today?” (um cold, freezing or excuse-me-while-I-scream-in-agony-cold?). Or from friends and family smugly living in my native California – like they don’t recall that anything under 60 degrees qualifies as “cold” in Cali (yeah, you know who you are) – “Is it cold there?” (um, yeah, cold, freezing, and excuse-me-while-I-scream-in-agony cold). Or from Teen and Pre-Teen who I suspect secretly just want me out of the way so they can watch a cagillioneth episode of Family Guy “Why are you watching Dexter…again!?” – (because the Miami setting makes me feel warm and I have a soft spot for a cute sociopath with heart, if you must know).

I can at least appreciate the question from friends who, like me once basked in the glory of a sunshine state but have now unwittingly found themselves relocated in a polar vortex – “Are you surviving the cold” (since I wear gloves to grocery shop, I would have to say “No”).

One thing is for certain. My cat, Lulubelle, doesn’t seem to have trouble thinking in the cold and has in fact figured out a way to survive and keep warm, which makes her the smartest member of our family.

You don’t mind a few, or say hundreds of white hairs on your clean laundry, right?

Yep, things are that bleak.

So for now,

I am coming to you live from the Polar Vortex…

But, only barely.

On New Years Eve 2014, I was in Las Vegas and by the time midnight rolled around – man, I was flying high!

Ok, well, actually, I was delayed in the Las Vegas Airport on my way home on December 31 and when the midnight hour struck Jan. 1 2014, I was (finally) in the air somewhere over Kansas (which could be perceived as a good or bad omen depending on your POV).

Despite this scintillating passage into 2014, I have managed to hold onto my tradition of not really facing the prospects of a new year until long after interest has died away.

First of all let me say, in the words of my brother – “New Year’s Resolutions are for chumps.” (in truth what he said was “fruit is for chumps”, but, like a sea turtle, I adapted).

Bottom line, I don’t do resolutions.

That is not to say, however, there are not some things I wish I did better, such as; exercise more, eat less sugar, drink more water and less coffee, have a cleaner house, write more (maybe even write a New Year’s post actually on New Year’s), be a better wife and a cooler mom (the kind that lets them eat Doritos and use the microwave), put up holiday decorations more than a few days before a holiday and… have perkier boobs. I would love to be the person that shops at farmers markets, has dinner parties, can keep a plant alive, loves every second of kids’ sporting events, doesn’t need to have gray hairs dyed constantly and… has perkier boobs.

However, since I resolve to never make New Year’s Resolutions, I am stuck with a few survival type choices: make it through another Midwest winter with my butt intact, laugh with abandon at the stupidest jokes, get on my snowboard at least once, finish watching Dexter (cause what is better when stuck inside for days on end than spending it with a serial killer with a code), and… pretend to have perkier boobs.

I won’t be in better shape, have less dust on my furniture, grow my own vegetables or have a festive looking house but…

At least, I’ll be no chump (with imaginary perky boobs)

Bring it on, 2014, I’m ready now.