Someone told me it hit 19 degrees Fahrenheit yesterday, and I believe it. I was running errands all over town, and every time I stepped from the car, a blast of dusty Arctic wind slapped me in the face. Shay was home from school, coughing, so at bus time, I bundled up to go pick up Aidan. I briefly considered driving to the bus stop – it was that cold. But instead I put on my wool coat, scarf, hat, mittens and insulated shoes (no socks, though). All of this over jeans, t-shirt and sweater. I grabbed my tea and headed down to the front gate.
The 10-minute walk there wasn’t so bad. But on the return trip, I was headed into the wind with a 5-year-old straggler. I kept pleading with him to please go faster, please. But the wind seemed to slow him down even more than usual. About half way home, he pulled his scooter to the side of the road and refused to go further, crying that he was too cold. I eventually lured him home with promises of hot cocoa and marshmallows. By the time we returned home, I couldn’t feel my legs under my jeans and my cheeks burned red.
Sometimes, you know, just sometimes, I really miss my old life back in Los Angeles.