Well, it didn’t take long to happen. From the first snowfall, it was less than 48 hours to develop. No matter how much I try to embrace the winter, I always seem to come back to the same point, developing the disorder that causes parents everywhere to shudder with despair.

Snowsuit Application Disorder.

I thought I might be able to escape this fate. I doubled up my caffeine intake and halved my give a shi*ts, but I still found myself falling victim to its curse.

It all started with the prep work. Teased by a mild autumn, I found myself shopping for a snowsuit for my oldest on the eve of the season’s first snowfall. By refusing to shop for this necessity in the middle of summer, I found myself paying a ridiculous amount for a snowsuit that MAY last my eldest the season. Good parents buy a size bigger and get their money’s worth. I run around the store like a crazy person and settle on an expensive two-piece character suit while my six-year-old rolls her eyes.

The next morning, I woke up ready to take on the storm. After all, this wasn’t my first rodeo.

The next morning, I woke up ready to take on the storm. After all, this wasn’t my first rodeo. I had the snowsuits sitting in the closet ready to go, I had matched the mittens and sorted the hats. I had purchased approximately 50 pairs of each, hoping to get through the first month without running out.

“Okay kids, time to get ready to go outside.”

I hadn’t counted on my children.

Despite years of practice, my children still looked at me as if I had three heads. The act of dressing themselves was out of the question. Instead, they chose to pretend like they had never encountered these strange snow pants before and had no idea how to put them on.

After several deep breaths to prevent a mommy meltdown, I helped the three able girls into their gear and we struck out into the chilly snowy air. It took about two minutes for the three-year-old to start crying because she was cold. The others swung the other way, refusing to keep on their hat and mittens while simultaneously complaining they were also cold. Wouldn’t I prefer to pull them all in the wagon to keep myself warm?

Actually, I would prefer liquor in my coffee and a good set of ear buds but you can’t always get what you want.

And the snow season bullsnap doesn’t end with them squeezing themselves onto their bus for their trip to school. Every afternoon I get to repeat the experience with the three-year-old only to have the oldest two deposit a huge mountain of soggy mittens and damp outwear outside of my front door, tempting me further into insanity.

My poor husband spent the better part of a Saturday installing approximately 50 hooks for their gear to be hung up out of sight. I tell him it is well used and was time well spent. We can’t have both parents with S.A.D.

We wouldn’t last the winter.

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