6 More Weeks

I'm blaming everything on Punxsutawney Phil.

I don't care how irrational, unscientific, or superstitious this is. I'm pretty sure it's his fault.

February is nearly over, March is around the corner. And the temperature today? 4 degrees. I walked out of the hospital in my post-call daze only to have my ears fall off before I reached my car.

Driving home, though the park still covered in pristine snow for the most recent storm, over the river covered in ice, it looks more like the beginning of January than the end of February.

The snow piles on either side of our driveway continue to grow larger and larger as Hubster adds to them after each snow storm. Our drive way has gone from a simple path to our garage to a ice bordered impression of the Grand Canyon with drifts higher than my car on both sides.

We tried making the most of the new snow two days ago by taking the boys sledding. We lasted 15 minutes due to the frigid wind and subfreezing temperatures.

The cold weather and the fact that I'm so vitamin D deficient it's amazing I can still walk have wreaked havoc on my will power. I've given in to Girl Scout Samoa Cookie ice cream. I've given in to buttery, salty popcorn. I've given into way too much pizza. I barely have the will and energy to exercise.

But I'm not taking the blame for this. It's all Phil's fault. 6 more weeks.

If that groundhog knows what's good for him, he'll get it right next year.