Monday, January 25, 2016

Why Dressing My Toddlers to Play in the Snow Sucks Major (Snow)Balls

Mother Nature must be menopausing this year. I mean, Holy Hot Flash, Batman. Talk about mood swings. First, she lulls me into a false sense of security by keeping the temps high and the grass green well into December. Then, around mid-January, just when I find myself hoping that—perhaps this year—I would be able to avoid the exhausting, yet requisite, process of putting snow gear on my toddlers, she pulls this shit: 

You can bet your bundled ass that the first thing my kids asked to do when they woke up to a world covered in nuisance white was go play in it. If there’s snow on the ground, the soundtrack of my life is reminiscent of the one from Disney’s Frozen, i.e., my kids incessantly belt out, “Do you wanna build a snowman?” until I can’t take it anymore and agree to accompany them outside, so we can all freeze our asses off make memories together.

Kids love snow. It’s a fact of nature. (See what I did there?) When I was a kid, my siblings and I jumped at the opportunity to have snowball fights, go sledding, build snowmen, impale each other with icicles, and use our prepubescent bodies to make awkwardly-shaped snow angels.

The thing is, my kids are toddlers right now. And getting toddlers dressed to play in the snow is about as fun as getting hit in the head with a Hot Wheels car—which is usually what ends up happening if I don’t succumb to their demands to play outside, where they’re actually able to burn off some of their endless toddler energy.

Here’s why getting my kids dressed to play in the snow sucks:

All the things.

Snow-play requires more layering than Kim Kardashian’s wedding cake. I have a hard enough time finding my kids’ socks (the ones I put on their feet, like, five minutes ago). Locating all the random pieces of their snow attire requires me to search multiple closets, dresser drawers, the van, the diaper bag, the spaces between the couch cushions, and (occasionally) the toilet bowl. It basically turns my afternoon into a live-action version of an I Spy book.

Can you spy all the things required for you and your toddlers to go outside? Spot the following items, before your kids lose their shit because they just HAVE to build a snowman NOW: snow pants, winter coats, thermal socks, boots, waterproof mittens, hats, scarves, and LOTS AND LOTS OF COFFEE. (Okay, who am I kidding? Like the coffee isn't always accessible.)

Toddlers have jellyfish limbs.

I can barely get my squirmy-ass kids in the tub, which measures approximately 1.5 toddler x .75 toddler. So trying to shove their writhing bodies into 50 relatively-fitted layers of clothing isn’t exactly a walk in the park. Or, in this case, a walk in the unappealing arctic tundra that our backyard has transformed into overnight.

Oh, and the thumbs of those waterproof mittens? Eff that. My kids don’t need thumbs. Penguins don’t have thumbs, and they do just fine in the cold. Besides, they don’t need the dexterity. We all know that I’ll be the one risking frostbite out there, forced to remove my own mittens in order to properly handcraft “our” snowman, while the kids flop around nearby, barking orders at me like caffeinated seals.

“Bigger! Bigger!” (Any bigger, and I won’t be able to lift its head onto its body.)

“It want some hot cocoa!” (Not a good idea, guys.)

“Why her butt look so funny?” (YOU BOYS BETTER BE TALKING ABOUT THE SNOWMAN!)

Come on, you think my toddlers built this bitch?

Murphy’s Law of toddler shit habits, as it relates to winter clothing.

This basically states that as soon as I finally have all that shit (see “all the things”) on my kids, they either (1) will tell me they have to shit (hopefully in less abrasive language), or (2) will shit. On the spot. Under the 50 layers of snow gear I just wrangled them into.

Either scenario requires immediate removal of said shit (literal and figurative) because I’ll either (1) have to change their diapers, or (2) strip them down layer by layer and plop them on the toilet, where they’ll proceed to waste even more of my time by belting out “Do you wanna build a snowman?” and taking an HOUR to actually shit.


It’s also #bullshit.

And then we’re right back to shoving jellyfish limbs back into all 50 layers of clothing.

By the time I’ve finally managed to get my toddlers snow-ready, we’re usually all so worn-out that we barely make it 30 minutes outside before needing to come back in for snacks and a nap.

Then I have to remove and put away all their snow gear, and by the time that’s done, they’ve usually crapped themselves again.


Someone needs to tell Mother Nature to get her shit together, before this mama loses hers.*

*Note: When I started this piece, my husband was home from work due to snowy/icy conditions. And now—less than a week later, as I hover over the "publish" button—temps are creeping toward 40. Our yard is mostly mud, and the boys are mourning the death of their beloved snowman.

But I won't be fooled again, and I'm keeping all the snow gear within reach for that cold bitch's inevitable next mood swing.


  1. LOL. I've experienced Murphy's law. And the probability of it occurring increases with each layer of clothing you need to remove.

    1. Haha yes! It's an exponential equation. It would probably be easier to just let them go out and play in their own filth, but then...
      ...laundry (womp womp).

  2. Yes! Yes! Yes!! Even when they get a bit older it's still a pain in the but, which is yet another reason why I hate the cold weather and snow. But I do like to watch them play, even if it's for a few minutes, they always look so cute!!!

    1. Agreed! I particularly enjoy it when they're in the back yard and I can sit on the patio with a cup of coffee while I watch lol :)

  3. I have been (and continue to be) there. Kids and snow are a horrible, nightmare-inducing combination. Very funny (and relatable) post!

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