Winter Protest

I hate the winter.

Not just because of the ridiculous expense of heating oil. Not because I wear three layers so the thermostat can comfortably sit at 65 degrees to save energy. Not because of the condensed wet snow that waited so patiently to be shoveled today.

I agree that upon a new snow there could be nothing more beautiful. It’s tranquil-- especially in the midst of snowfall at night or upon daybreak when few cars loiter the roads. The snow is still white, and looks beautiful as it dusts the evergreen trees lining the park in my back yard.

I think the reason I mostly hate winter is the pent up energy that resides in my house. The testosterone levels that gradually build up in my little sons’ bodies every day, and the ungodly cold that offers them no release outside. Peyton is only beginning to crawl and it is uneventful bringing him out into the cold. Mason would probably last until frost bite occured before wanting to come inside.

With the normally high toddler energy levels matched with the normally mediocre mom energy levels it makes for an interesting battle every day to keep them occupied and with all appendages attached. Occupancy is key, and I usually run out of ideas shortly after Elmo and prior to snack time.

This morning I began to wonder if the boys’ dislike for winter came to rise to the surface too. They appreciated the “snooo” as Mason described the frozen matter outside while he and his brother peered outside their bedroom window. But lately since we’ve been cooped up inside they’re aggression has increased way too much for my liking. Mason has ceased hitting his little brother for the most part, but instead now turns his little fist toward himself. Self-hitting is beyond my understanding to the degree at which they do it. I can identify with, You idiot, Steph! You locked yourself out of the house again for the third time today without your spare. Off to see hubby at work again. Won’t he be thrilled, as I turn my palm to my forehead in a quick “duh” realization.

Peyton, all 14 months of him, started hitting himself and creates a deja vous moment for yours truly upon every thwap to his tiny little head. Mason started this vicious cycle shortly after Peyton was born when he was 14 months old too. Jason and I assumed the cause was two fold: frustration and lack of verbal capacity to express his feelings. His physical motor skills are finely tuned, but his verbal skills are slowly catching up. Recently we’ve seen a rise again in this self-hitting for Mason when we thought it abandoned him for several months.

It’s not only frustrating [and seemingly painful to onlookers], but as parents it’s upsetting to watch this. Upon finishing the workout of clearing our snow-paved driveway I sat down on the computer chair to google, or wiki-search anything involving toddler self destruction.

I became aware that there are at least 100 other people responding to similar cries for help. Parents cited similar findings: lacking verbal expression. I was unable to find, however, any resolutions. Many parents stated they saw vast improvements with elevated physical activity and that it was a release for their child [most of which were boys that were in the 2+ year old category]. Snow snow go away.

I’m not terribly naïve enough to think that with the quickly approaching early spring crocuses and daffodils that my sons will cease their destructive behaviors but my god I certainly have hoped for crazier things in my life.
Like my driveway shoveling itself.