Brrrrrrrrrrrr.

In true Chicago fashion, we went from beach weather this weekend to radiator weather today. I often wonder why we are deprived of 60-70 degree temperatures in transitional seasons (Fall and Spring (my favorites) are far too short, in my opinion). Now, our current 54 degrees isn't exactly frigid, but as usual, the 20 mph wind (with the obligatory 30 mph gusts) makes if feel that way. Either way, I stopped to consider as G and I headed out for what has become our Wednesday ritual, that it takes a couple more minutes to get ready when it's cold. At first thought, this wasn't really a big deal, because what's a few minutes? Then I started thinking about a few minutes a few times a day for the entire winter and I realized that I will spend approximately 27 hours from now until April bundling and debundling Gillian to brave the winter. If you consider the idea of getting her in and out of the snow bib when it is seriously frozen in January and February, you can tack on an hour or two more.

In the back of my mind the past few weeks, I have been thinking about what to do to keep Gillian's hands warm in the cold. I can imagine she would tolerate mittens as well as she tolerates vegetables, and I would spend the better part of each walk retrieving the discarded mittens from the sidewalk. Today I layered her and then tucked a blanket around her body, wondering how long it would take for her to free her hands and for them to turn to ice cubes. Remarkably, she did not attempt to free her hands, even when barking at the dogs that crossed our paths (usually this requires forward bobbing and arm flailing on her part). This might have been due to the Gold Fish coma she was in, but I took it to mean that she was aware that it was cold and she realized the blanket kept her hands warm. It occurs to me that I take for granted that babies aren't dumb...they must have some amount of instinct that would make it sensible to keep their hands somewhere safe.

So, today is COLD. The northeast wind was creating ocean-like breaking waves at the desolate beach, and we were the only ones there besides a few crazies body surfing in wet suits (not even the guy learning to play the fiddle was there today). Still, I couldn't help but feel that a sunny Fall day makes things crisp and fresh and new, and that crispiness made Gillian and I both giddy-happy.

It is really strange to think that Gillian will grown up in a completely different lifestyle than I did (and that, generally, is very, very good). Besides the obvious differences in growing up in a big city, more what I was thinking is that she will know what snow is before she is 25, sledding and snow angels will be a staple of fun in the winters (I made my first snow angel at the ripe old age of 30), and she won't be a weather pansy (after 6 years here, I am slowly coming out of this, myself). Maybe she'll be one of those people we south floridians would look at in November in the 60 degree weather, wearing a t-shirt and shorts and think, "what a lunatic, to dress like that when it's obviously FREEZING!" I like the image of her flying down Mount Trashmore at 2o miles and hour on a disk sled, completely unafraid, or throwing snowballs at her Papa, or putting on her snowboots to go out and play. The winter will add an entirely different dimension to her life that she wouldn't have if she grew up in Florida. That's not to say I don't long for Florida long about mid-January, when I'd give anything to be sweltering in 100 degree heat and 99% humidity, but for what it's worth, in my Fall buzz, I am romanticizing winter. Ask me how I feel again in a few months.