Dear Winter: I am on good on you.

Dear Winter,

You knew this was coming. I think it's time we had...
a talk.

You've crusted my car windows with ice. You've slicked my roads and sidewalks. Your snowflakes have stuck to much more than my "nose and eyelashes." You've been here way too long and your days have, well, been numbered for quite a while now.

Winter, I am good on you.

Let's face it--you've had a good run. When you first arrived, part of me was a little excited. I was like a grade school kid who wears her PJs inside out and jumps on top of her bed in a counter-clockwise circle hoping this small, sincere ritual will cause enough snow for the ultimate reward: a snow day the following morning. Part of me liked mulling the possibility of wearing cute sweaters again, snuggling by a fire, going sledding--the whole nine. But that excitement has worn off, winter, and has been replaced with a general loathing, yes I said loathing, of you.

Winter, you're like the too-drunk little sister at a keg party. No one wants you around but everyone has to put up with you anyway. You strew mess all over the place and then never clean up after yourself. You are unapologetic. You are sloppy. You are annoying. The minute you walk through the door, everyone sighs and shakes their heads knowing exactly where the evening is headed--Trainwrecksville, and fast.

Winter, you are on notice.

Where is your hot older brother Spring? Where is he? The minute he comes around, everyone lightens up and starts peeling off their clothes in excitement to see him. Clunky, sensible shoes are shed for cute heels and sandals. Legs that haven't seen the light of day in ages show up in adorable skirts, dresses and capris. Yeah, when spring shows up everyone sighs and smiles...in relief. The air is softer, the mood is more relaxed and people stop to say hello.

Tomorrow, when I am charged with taking 20 tots to My Gym (a kid's fitness center), you can't just hold your peace? Seriously, you have to make the promise of 2-3 inches of snow in suburbia? Winter, no one handles snow well in suburbia. A quarter of an inch falls and school is called off for a week. So really, you give me no choice.

Winter, you are dead to me.