Four letter words

For the longest time, I reserved the word hate for three things: mornings, cats, and snow. My attitudes have changed somewhat, and it is time to admit that.
First, I don't hate mornings. I'm just bad at them. My change of heart here is a realization that some of the few times my daughter consents to holding still for a snuggle is in the morning. She is normally running, bouncing, jumping, or climbing. So a few cheek kisses before a cup of coffee is an awfully nice thing.

Second, cats can kill me. As far as their attitudes and behaviors go, I tend to like them (other than urination as a form of expression). They are agile and intense. They even tend to like me. They seem to understand that they can kill me just by their presence and are amazed that I am dumb enough to approach, antihistamines or no.

But the third, well, I still hate snow. It has been falling all day now, with terms like "Lake Effect" and "Accumulation" being bandied about on NPR. Sure, sure, this is nothing, yet. It is even melting on the concrete surfaces, and the temperature is still just at freezing. But here is my new reason to hate the snow: I can't avoid it. When I had to live in it before, I could just hide inside. But now I have a four year old.
What's the difference? I will soon find myself, once again, hitched to the front of a sled like a mule. I am already the target of snowballs at crotch height. Miss Neverpoop thinks that the winter is a delightful wonderland of frolic and giggle. No, I'm not so jaded as to deny her playtime in the snow, but there had better be some hot chocolate and peppermint schnapps in my kitchen to recover with.



But for those of you who insist that winter is great, and that I am missing out on the glory of snow, I offer you some snow science. I can't like anything that makes my hands hurt this much, but I can share some of the beauty of science with you.

And as for the word hate, well, I now hate many other things and people. But I'm old enough to let it all rest quietly.