The older I get, the more I understand why people live in year-round warm climates. And since I am only (I get to use that modifier still, right?) 36, I am thinking it’s not too long until Bryan and I put our tent pegs down directly on top of the equator. I always claim I love the four seasons. And I do – in theory. They seem so nice with their changing leaves and roaring fires and cowl neck sweaters and profuse sweating and torrential rain that may or may not make the flowers grow. But I don’t know. I am over it for a minute.
London has been very cold. Which is generally fine, and not like I am not used to bitter winters. They are a hallmark of any time spent on the East Coast of the US. But when you walk everywhere, not drive, the reality of the cold is impressed directly into your freezing bones. Walking anywhere with Jonah takes 750% longer than it would if he was a in a stroller. And a stroller takes 200% longer than being in a car. So if you reverse that technical math I just blew your mind with, we arrive at most destinations with minor frostbite.
But this past weekend it snowed multiple times in London! And it was beautiful and happy and good timing for most people to not be at work. You’re back in my good graces, four seasons! It’s my hypothermia and I’ll be fickle if I want to.
Wait, did you see my new sleeping bag coat? Next winter I need the ankle-length kind.
Our power went out the other night for 4 hours. I had given Bryan one of those headlamp flashlight/torch things for Hanukkah. He’s not really a home improvement kinda guy but it turns out headlamps are the new book lights. See Dad, Bryan didn’t miss one night of Ships of Oak and Guns of Iron.