A pain in my...

The weather is swinging back and forth from "positive" to "negative" territory nearly as wildly as the stock markets these days... And that is saying something, people.

Snow just before Easter Weekend is definitely a "downer" in my books, and most certainly in those of the three little people I share this house with. However, in perusing the older posts on this blog, I have come to realize that spring is ALWAYS like this for us. We get a little teaser of beautiful, spring-like weather, and the girlies burst forth to bring out their bikes and tricycles and skipping ropes, and the begging for FRESH SAND IN THE SANDBOX!! begins...

At first, I am pretty good about approaching the Promise of Spring with caution... I try ever so hard not to get TOO excited about it. I appease the children and bring out their toys, but leave plenty of room in the garage to shove them back in there, if need be. We compromise on a new bucket of coloured chalk to make hopscotches with, rather than re-filling the sandbox...

But then, after a few days, it happens.

I get a whiff of the fresh, dark earth in my garden, and glimpse a peek of green poking up out of the soil.

TULIPS!! DAFFODILS!!

And the *^%$#@@! squirrel bandits haven't even eaten them yet!!

Spring Fever hits me hard, and the next thing I know, I'm hauling that sand, ordering top-soil to be delivered, and lining up all of my gardening tools... Sure, the ground is still frozen down at a certain depth... but that doesn't stop me from trying to turn over the soil that has THAWED, does it?!

It SO does NOT.

I ignore my long-suffering and sainted mother's Golden Rule of "NOTHING Before the End of May!!" and go-to-it with gusto.

My girlies and I shed our winter boots for wellies, our parkas for lightly fleece-lined jackets...

We clean out the car.

WE SHOVEL OUT THE MUD ROOM, AND PUT THE HATS AND MITTS AND SCARVES INTO STORAGE.

And that? Must be what finally trips Mother Nature's big ol' breaker switch out there in the ether, somewhere-- she suddenly decides that we've become waaaaaaay too cocky, or happy, or something.

She sends snow.

Not light, fluffy snow that melts upon impact with the ground.

Heavy snow, mixed with freezing drizzle, that lasts for DAYS, makes transportation treacherous, and life generally miserable.

To top it off, we've all started getting colds.

Now, no one has a fever, as yet-- we're just at the schnuffly-nose-tickle-at-the-back-of-the-throat stage. So, we're proceeding with school and playdates, and just coughing into our elbows when need be, packing extra tissues, and washing our hands till they chaff...

In short, this isn't anything a Good Canadian would complain about. As far as wintertime goes, this is pretty much business as usual.

Unless you're a MAN, that is.

I believe you've met my husband, The Sickie?

Well, I'm sorry to say that he is STRICKEN, people. He's apparently got a fatal case of The Sniffles, and he's making damn good and sure that I know all about his suffering.

AGAIN.

Picture this, yesterday morning:

Me: (madly racing around the house, trying to get beds made, laundry sorted, bathrooms scrubbed, children dressed, and off to school)

Him: (in hot pursuit) ...and my nose is dripping, and my feet are sweating, and I can't find any kleenex, and I... (breaks into a spasm of exaggerated coughs)

Me: (glaring at him, then slamming the door on the way out)

LATER:

Me: (frantically preparing dinner whilst juggling the telephone, answering e-mails, simultaneously helping two children with completely different homework, and supervising two four-year-olds with a PAINTING craft on the kitchen table)

Him: (languishing over a cup of steaming hot lemon tea I have just made him) ...and my chest feels tight, and my brain is foggy, and my throat hurts, and I think I've got a touch of tendinitis in my back, and I think I might be developing those migraines you say you get, you know the ones?...

Me: (throws bottle of Extra-Strength Tylenol at his head)

You know that eternal question, if a tree falls in the forest and there's no one around to hear it, does it make a sound?

Well, I'm starting to wonder: if my husband is sick, and there's no one around to listen to his whining, does he keep complaining out loud, even when I'm not in the house?!?

Bedtime:

Me: (having just endured the super-fit-of-a-lifetime with Wee Three over whether or not she can sleep with her light ON all night, then reading just ONE MORE STORY about thirteen times, performing the almost obsessive-compulsive little ritual of lining up her stuffed animals in the correct order, hugging-and-kissing-and-high-fiving ALL OF THEM, selecting the correct lullaby, blowing on her dream-catcher to clean it out, and checking both the closet and under-the-bed for Monsters)

Him: (standing just outside her bedroom door in his rattiest pyjamas) ...and I need a little humidifier, and I can't find the Vick's Vapo-Rub, and the Tylenol bottle is empty, and I think I'm getting a little touch of tendinitis in my right knee, because I've got a pain...

Me: (emerging from the room and closing the bedroom door) I'm sorry, dearest. You've got a pain? YOU'VE got a pain???! YOU'VE GOT A PAIN???!!!

Me Again: (head splitting open and flames shooting out of my neck. Seriously.) I'VE GOT A GIGANTIC PAIN. RIGHT. IN. MY. A$$.

There was silence.

I think I could actually HEAR his sinuses draining.

And then, a little voice from behind the closed bedroom door rang out, clear as a bell:

Wee Three: (sternly) Well. DAT'S not a nice thing to tell a little girl at BEDTIME...

Mother Nature?

Give. Me. A. BREAK.

Because YOU must have a man in YOUR life TOO, right????