So in this long quest of finding a job and our new homeland, I discovered an important fact about myself. I really, really, really hate snow. With a passion. I dislike it. I abhor it. To try and communicate my relief that I will not have to wrangle my two little kittens into coats and find lost mittens fills me with such a sense of glee that I could do a jig right now.
There. I'm jigging. In my blue checked pajamas. How did I discover this? Way back when, during our puke-fest week of interviews - we left Tucson and headed to a small New England town outside Boston. They got a foot of snow while we were there. My husband was overjoyed. My four year old could not wait to make a snowman. My two year old looked up at me and started to blubber. Oh yes, this angel of my loins not only inherited my sweetness and mellowness (snicker, snicker) but she also hated the snow. She hated it so much she decided to express her displeasure by puking all over the hotel room.
When I woke up my husband to ask him to find a pharmacy, he looks out the window and says, "Are you crazy? I can't go out in that weather!" After silently conveying that I would no longer consider living in a place where we were afraid to go outside, my husband sighed and braved the elements.
For his patience, and his perseverance, and to reward him for moving me to a warm climate, I, Lollyblogger, solemnly do swear that within the next year and a half, I will learn to ski. And like it. I will do this to honor the man I love- the guy that works 18 hour days and happens to love to frolic in the snow. I will take him to Big Bear, and I will learn to like it. Let's just hope nobody pukes over this. Because I'm still not going to learn how to drive in it.