January Melt Down

For most of my adult life, I have despised the month of January. It's cold. It's dark. It's anti-climactic. After the pageantry of Christmas it feels like punishment – a hangover if you will. The commercials try to sell gym memberships and fad diets, but frankly, I would rather hibernate and eat comfort food until spring.

This year, I'm on Maternity leave. Despite the daily 6:00am morning wake-up call, a shrill "MomEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE" that douses me with an icy glass of water over the head, I am grateful to be at home during this harsh month. I may not get to sleep in under cozy warm covers, but at least I don't have to battle the traffic and drive on dangerous roads. I get to see the limited daylight and I can enjoy my Starbucks Mocha after the morning rush.

Most days, I credit my dog Morley for helping me to stay sane. She still has her sock fetish, and some days (today for instance) I wonder a little about her own sanity... Morley's disappearing sock act seems to bear an inverse correlation to her number of park excursions. Two walks a day keeps the sock snatcher at bay. I have learned that I too need to be exercised or at the very least exposed to sunlight twice daily, or else I go a little batty and OD on chocolate chips.

So, at 9am on most weekdays you will find me running through Bowness Park, pushing two kids in a double stroller, with dog in tow. Impressed? You should be.

The price of sanity sky-rockets in January. Neither of my children are particularly enamoured with the double stroller. It takes a considerable amount of bribery, cajoling, and "tough love" to get them settled into it. On cold, wintery days, only a mad woman (me) would embark on such a painstaking mission, but I've almost got it down to a science.

The trick is to get myself ready first, both physically with the right outerwear, and mentally, with the right inner harmony. Then I get a little help from Scooby-Doo while I wrestle the two year-old into his Spider-man snowsuit. During this time, the 10 month-old writhes about on the floor, kicking, bellowing, and sputtering baby curse words. I ignore her cries of protest and proceed to package her up in her mammoth baby snowsuit with built-in feet and mittens.

Eventually we make it to the door. The two year old is now more than ready to get into the stroller because he sees that I have his Flintstone vitamin ready to bestow on him once he is buckled into his seat but the baby is still displeased. I assume the neighbours think that I am a cruel, cruel mother but I remind myself that THIS is the price of sanity, ironic as that may be.

It truly is. For the moment we pass through the gate, everyone settles down, and a blissful peace settles over us. I will admit that some days, during my run, the park, still and frosted with silver , luminescent sun-beams penetrating the trees providing a sparkle as only occurs in the dead of winter, is… in fact...kind of breathtaking.

Last week, I messed with the system. I just didn't have it in me to run through the rigmarole, but Morley was looking at me accusingly- and eyeing up Ella's socked feet, licking her chops, so I knew we had to get out.

"Hey Neal! I'm going to let you walk on your own through the park today and Ella's going to get a backpack ride!"

"Okay. I hold Mommy hand!"

The adventure held promise. Ella squirmed less as I dressed her in her "bunny" snowsuit and plopped her in the backpack and even though the sidewalks and roads were treacherous with packed snow, we made it to the park gates unscathed.

The first thirty minutes were fabulous. Neal and I played fetch with Morley until she got tired. Then Neal and I found sticks and started to draw in the snow. Our last mission was to check to see if Eeyore, and Piglet were home in the "hundred acre wood" on the east side of the park (they weren't). The sun started to set and it started to get cold.

This is when things went to hell in a backpack. Little Ella was no longer enjoying her ride. Her baby legs started to kick. The sputtering started up and increased in intensity until it was a howl.

It was time to go home but Neal was not ready to go home. He was ready to play catch-me-if-you-can- Mommy.

Me (Nice, calm voice): Neal, we need to go home now, Ella is cold and hungry.

Neal: NO!

Me: (Still calm): Neal, okay, but Ella, Morley, and I are going home. I'm going to have hot chocolate when I get home. With marshmallows. If you want some, you'll have to come to.

I walk towards home, anticipating that eventually Neal will follow.

Sitting in the snow watching me walk further and further away, he calls my bluff.

Me: (taking a deep breath): Neal, I'm going to count to THREE. Then I'm coming to get you and I will not be happy and there WILL NOT BE ANY HOT CHOCOLATE!

Neal: (Big goofy grin on his face): hee heee heeeee.

I get to three and my two-and-a-half year-old hasn't budged. I have to put on my stern, angry face (not difficult at this point) and fetch him. Just as I am about to catch him, he jumps to his feet with a big smile on his face and obliges. As he canters in my direction, I breathe a sigh of relief. We are back on track for all of thirty seconds when I hear, "hee hee hee", look over my shoulder and see my itty bitty Spider-Man or should I say Venom (Yes I now know the difference. I know the names of other Marvel characters too.), veering away from me, skating over the icy road and heading for the ice burgs in the river.

Ella is bouncing up and down and pounding on my back as I sprint over the arctic terrain. She is not happy about it. I don't know what cowboy movies she's managed to see in her brief ten months but somehow she's managed to free her hands from the built in snowsuit mitts and she is using my hair as reins, pulling with all her might and screaming ferociously.

I snatch Neal up and carry him under my arms back across the frozen field. He isn't exactly light, and the little monkey thinks this is fantastic. Wild giggles flow freely from his throat. I am seething. This is my so-called empath child. How can he not sense my frustration?!

My arms have turned to jelly and I simply cannot carry him anymore and we are still not out of the woods.

"Neal, you have to walk. Hold my hand!"

"Carry ME!!!!" he responds.

I take his hand and literally drag him across the snow. Ella continues to scream bloody murder and my hair is at the mercy of miniature clawing hands. Morley, definitely sensing my mood, wanting nothing more than to please her owner, is pulling the lot of us up the bridge across the lagoon. Lips pursed, eyes fixed, forehead crinkled, my mind chants a mantra: BREATH IN, BREATH OUT, BREATH IN, GGGGRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.

A manly looking lady with a grey, yappy lap-dog approaches us. I attempt a tight smile as I notice her taking in our situation.

"I know how you're feeling dear," her husky voice says. She suggests that I need to go home and have a nice hot cup of tea.

"TEA?? I'm going to need something stronger than TEA," I mutter to myself as we charge up the hill.

"Mommy, I have hot chocolate? Neal asks sweetly as we make our way through our gate.

I look at him and am struck by his smiling angelic features. Despite my recent hardship I can feel his happiness and it is contagious. Was this outing really about improving my sanity? On the surface it was but I feel I might just have picked up a little lesson on inner peace too.


…But from now on, as a rule, we will be taking the stroller on cold winter days.