Do you wanna build a snowman?

I hope this person gets sunburned.

January has been your-skin-will-freeze-in-under-five-minutes-if-exposed-to-the-elements COLD. Before this winter I had never heard of a polar vortex. I had never heard of school getting canceled not once, not twice, not three times, but FOUR TIMES due to “extreme cold.” (I understand why the districts canceled, my point isn’t to whine about the kids not having school—I support that decision—it’s to say that this weather is breaking all kinds of records.) I find myself skipping over my friends and family’s Facebook photos where they're vacationing on the beach (I'm pretty sick of the popular "I'm-not-going-to-show-you-me-in-a-swimsuit, just-my-bare-legs-and-painted-toenails" shots) /lounging by the pool/ enjoying a lovely al fresco dining experience in tank tops and t-shirts, because it just seems so INHUMANE. We have dangerously cold temps one day, a blizzard/commuting nightmare the next, and still winter stretches on for at least another two months (minimum).

But because we’re hardy Minnesotans who stubbornly refuse to hibernate, we still find ways to enjoy life. If we don't, we become bitter and hardened and angry and jealous, and that wouldn't do well for our "Minnesota Nice" reputation. (That, and it would make for a very long winter season.)
At the beginning of the month, my immediate family celebrated my mom’s birthday with a nice lunch at Granite City, followed by a trip to Como Zoo and their Tropical Encounters exhibit (highly recommend, esp in this weather!), we signed the boys up for Saturday morning swimming lessons at my old junior high, which has not changed one little bit since the late 80s (Adam hates the lessons; Ben loves them), we went sledding with my niece and nephews at my sister's house, my parents babysat one afternoon so that Aaron and I could go snowboarding at Welch Village (with friends), followed by pizza and beer at the Red Wing Brewery, my brother organized his annual ice fishing contest and about 35 people showed up, Aaron and I asked Uncle Jeremy to babysit—we ask him once a year—so we could go on a date to see Cabaret (so good, such talent! I was surprised to recognize one of the downstairs Caribou baristas as one of the actors, but have yet to get up the courage to bring it up in conversation), and Grandma Patti babysat overnight so we could help our close friend Remme celebrate her 40^th birthday at a back-to-the-80s surprise party, complete with bare shoulders, neon, big hair, big earrings, leg warmers, and way too much blue eyeshadow. Now that the majority of my friends are married, and most of them are busy bringing their kids to various activities, the big milestone celebrations are one of the few times we all get together. Old people still know how to party!!

The Esprit bag was a big hit.

My favorite photo of the evening. Who invited THIS guy?!

Crimped hair. Why, 80s? Why?

Celebrating a great friend!

January also brought the notice of another close friend's work departure. Sniff, sniff. I feel the same way I did when other good friends told me they were leaving. I will miss working with her, laughing at her crazy stories and impersonations, and seeing her every day, but am genuinely glad she landed this opportunity. Plus she'll only be two blocks away, and still involved with our work events, and still up for happy hour or dinner or just hanging out on the East Side, so I know she’ll always be part of our lives (the boys absolutely love her and ask when she'll babysit again).

 

It also brought a move to a really beautiful assisted living facility for my only surviving grandparent, which was a relief for my aunt and mom (her main caretakers), and a heartbreak, too. Is she lonely? is she adequately cared for? is she eating ok? sleeping ok? does she resent this move? does she miss her old life and routine? does she feel happy? sad? confused? what does she do to fill her day? does she even want to be an active participant or simply fall asleep and not wake up? Oh, my poor, sweet grandma. She's the only grandparent I have left and she's slipping away.

Four generations, Christmas break 2013

This month also brought a phone call from Adam’s teacher—while I was at work, talk about nearly giving me a heart attack!—to see how he’s handling his best friend’s cancer diagnosis. She said he’s a caring, compassionate friend whose face lights up when Michael is near him, and very loyal and protective during the times Michael is away from school, undergoing chemotherapy. (He saves his spot on the bus.)
"I know how he worries, so I just wanted to check in," she said.
She deserves a Teacher of the Year award. 
"He's doing good," I told her. "Thank you for calling. He knows Michael is sick, but really doesn't talk a lot about it."
Adam has had close friends before—particularly his "amigos" at daycare—but this friendship is different. He loves his friend so much. He would do anything for him, give him the last bite of his Chipotle, his best Pokemon card, even forfeit court-side T-wolves tickets to let Michael go in his place (ok, maybe not that one). 
It's really a beautiful thing.   
"He's my BFF in the whole world," he proudly told Aaron and I one night before bed.
"Do you know what that means?" I asked.
"Something about a best friend?" 
He hasn't asked many questions about cancer, and I don't offer up too much information for fear of overloading his delicate brain with scary facts. He knows what he needs to know. 

"I'm also calling to let you know that Adam hasn't been eating his lunch," Mrs. B said in a more concerned tone.
(The lunchroom monitor alerted her, so she had lunch with him one day to observe, and sure enough, he had some pudding, ONE bite of pizza, and the rest of his tray got dumped.)
"I want to be able to help him, but I'm not sure how," she added. "I thought maybe we could figure it out together."
You know your kid's lack of eating is a problem when the lunchroom monitor tells the teacher, and the teacher calls you at work. 

It looks edible, right?

That night, Aaron and I had a heart-to-heart with Adam about the importance of eating lunch. It feels like we've had this conversation a billion times. It doesn't seem to sink in. He readily admitted he hasn't been eating lunch regularly, sometimes not at all. Sometimes he will just sit there and watch his friends eat. This makes me very, very sad. 

What about bringing a cold lunch?

Argument No. 1 = “I don’t have the right lunch box.” (He has a traditional hard-sided Star Wars lunchbox, a gift for his sixth birthday.)

Fine. We will buy you a new lunchbox. I actually found two options at Target, both soft-sided. In the sporting good department, because why would they be in with the kitchen gadgets? That would just make too much sense. So ... here, Adam. Choose your lunchbox! Which do you like best?

Argument No. 2 = “I like that one but don’t know how to bring cold lunch. Everyone will stare.”

Ok, I get that. He hates to draw attention to himself, and he worries when anything is out of his usual routine. I said he could bring cold lunch on a day when Aaron or I or my parents ate lunch with him and his friends. We could show him how. (Oh, the innocent things anxious 6-year-olds worry about.)

Argument No. 3 = “I don't want to. Nobody brings cold lunch.”

I have a very hard time believing this, but FINE. THEN EAT THE LUNCH PROVIDED BY THE SCHOOL.   

He can select a PB&J, a salad, or the hot lunch, I mean, it’s not like he doesn’t have CHOICES. He won’t eat the PB&J because the jelly is different than what he’s used to eating, and he won’t eat the “lettuce” [*I can’t imagine many kindergarteners choose salad for lunch], and at least half the time he doesn’t like what’s served for hot lunch because some part of the meal is different than how we make it at home. I remember those school lunches, and while they weren't exactly gourmet, they were edible. I swear, he is the PICKIEST KID IN THE WORLD. (Or at least in the top 20.)

The fact that he's not eating lunch makes me weep for two reasons: he’s throwing away our money (the less of the two reasons for concern), and the big one—the kid NEEDS FOOD. He’s going to make himself sick. He’s already so small and fragile — he needs fuel for energy and strength, he needs food to GROW, he needs food to stay HEALTHY! Little Adam, your mom and dad say this out of love and compassion, PLEASE EAT YOUR FREAKIN' LUNCH!!! 

What do you do when your six-year-old goes on a lunch strike? I'm open to any and all suggestions.

We also saw "Frozen" this month. I love that Disney portrayed two strong, powerful princesses celebrating their differences (best used for the common good) and the shared love between them. I also appreciated two surprise twists near the end of the film.

All in all, January was a month of good days and a few "glad-this-one-is-over" days when the boys did their share of fighting and arguing one minute, then playing together, laughing and hugging like close friends the next, followed by wrestling until one kid has the other in a painful hold, ending in protests of "I'm telling on you!" and tears and "You're mean! I hate you!" and/or clumps of pulled hair. (I wouldn't be surprised if Adam develops a bald spot. Ben can be one vicious hair-puller.) January has brought with it the usual hurry-to-work, hurry-to-preschool, hurry-home to figure out dinner/dishes/laundry/baths/homework/read books/then try-not-to-fall-asleep-while-reading-my-own-book routine (it gets easier when the kids are older and more self-sufficient, but it is still exhausting). I don't crave sleep like I did when they were younger, but I do crave a vacation now more than ever!

Since a vacation isn't in our immediate future, we do our best to find fun ways to spend our weekends together. This weekend a group of friends and family will be going snowtubing and out for drinks as I celebrate another trip around the sun. I'm looking forward to having all four of us out on the hill. I wonder how the boys will do. Last year, Ben went down once (with me), got a face-full of snow, and spent the rest of the two-hour session in the chalet with Grandma Patti. Adam stuck it out for a bit longer, although it was hard to tell if he did it because he was having fun or he did it because his cousins were out there (peer pressure). This year, though, both kids have loved going sledding. Adam wants to spend all of his time outside—even in below-zero temps—and Ben has been a total daredevil, insisting on going down alone, laughing when he's landed face-first in the snow before shouting "Again! Again!" so who knows? One year can make a world of difference.

One year can make a world of difference. It can mean the arrival of a new baby, a new job, a move to a new city, a new routine, a new house, a subtle or dramatic change in health (for good or bad), or the loss of someone close to you. So much can change in such a short time. Every year we're above ground is worthy of a celebration. (It's also a great excuse to get together with the people you love.)

In the wise words of author Anne Carson:

“Come here, let me share a bit of wisdom with you.
Have you given much thought to our mortal condition?
Probably not. Why would you? Well, listen.
All mortals owe a debt to death.
There's no one alive
who can say if he will be tomorrow.
Our fate moves invisibly! A mystery.
No one can teach it, no one can grasp it.
Cheer up! Have a drink!
Let the rest go."