I'm afraid I've passed on my winter hibernation habits to my children.
I have friends who can't get their three-year olds inside for wanting to spend all day in the snow. Colin just doesn't see the point to it all. We've bundled the two boys up in winterwear and trudged outside for toboggan rides around the yard and snowman building...but after 10 minutes or so they are bored and cold and begging to go inside. James is a winter man and could spend hours outside without feeling Old Man Winter's pinch on his nose and cheeks. Me, I'm chilled to the bone through my layers and layers of clothing in a matter of minutes.
But I do love a beautiful winter walk. A brisk pace and enough clothing seem to save me long enough to hike around town pushing the stroller. There is a poetry to a whitewashed world around me, to the stark contrast of dark wood and white snow, to the diamond dust falling from the sky, to the cool blanket covering the grass below.
I have yearned for years to move to a warmer climate (preferably the south of France). I wonder, truly, if I would miss winter snow? Could I really trade the unmatched beauty of this season for endless days of golden sunshine and azure seas and purple lavender fields and the rich red earth of vineyards? Well, I guess it wouldn't be too far to hike to the mountains if I really missed it.
Cold, cold snow. Maybe one day my boys will learn to love it. I'm certain as a young girl I spent hours outside. Maybe it's something you grow into and out of over time. At least I will admit it's lovely to look at from the warmth of my kitchen table.