Open Letter to Mother Nature

You got me! You, in your infinite wisdom, must've laughed when I sat outside in 60 degree weather just two days ago and planted seeds with my children.

With every strained-patience "that's it" and "let's wait one minute" I uttered to them as they tried to dump every last seed into one square inch of space and pour the entire bucket of water onto a single patch of earth, you must've cackled with impending joy at my misery.

Because you knew, didn't you? You knew that you'd be suffocating us under yet another four inches of freaking snow. I live in the South, lady. It's supposed to be unseasonably warm and I should be complaining right now about how it never even got cold this winter and how I wasted money we don't have on snow boots and heavy coats.

That's how it's supposed to be and you're mucking it up for everyone. My surly nine year old is currently snowballing the house in an effort to drive my whiny two year old absolutely bonkers. My whiny two year old is banging on the windows yelling about how my surly nine year old is going to get eaten by wolves. And this is all your fault, you nasty wench.

I must now trudge out into your icy cold punishment and pretend that it's fun to freeze my backside off just so that my kids can roll around in snow for point-five seconds before crying that's too cold. Then I'll spend 10 minutes choreographing their move back inside so that wet clothes and feet don't ruin the carpet.

But you go ahead laugh, you old bitch. Laugh it the eff up. Because the next time there's a drought and everyone's crying about how your earth is cracked and dry and your lakes are evaporating, I'm gonna bust a damn gut. Now if you'll excuse me, there's a snowy hell with my name on it.

**This post is part of What's Up? Wednesday.