Tag Archives: winter

November 10, 2026 · 12:27 pm

Well, That’s Just SAD

Like multitudes of people here and abroad, I absolutely loathe the time change that occurs every fall—switching back to Standard Time, which feels like it ought to be referred to as the Dark Ages. That’s just stupid. I was finally getting accustomed to Daylight Saving Time, which I love for the most part because it’s still twilight at nine p.m. in July. Unfortunately, kids are also traipsing to the bus stop at dark-thirty every morning in March, risking life and limb, which is equally stupid.

I’d surmise that I’m not alone in the displeasure I routinely express when it comes to changing what time is displayed on all the clocks throughout the house, especially the ones in our cars, which are ridiculously complex, and the ones that hang on a wall. In fact, this year I broke one of the cussed clocks in the process of switching the time—which is probably a bad omen.

At any rate, it’s no wonder some people have great difficulty functioning when the days grow shorter in the fall and winter months. But it’s exponentially worse, in my opinion, when we change the clocks around November, effectively making it DARK at 5:00p.m. Every year when we make the switch, I swear “I’m going to go FERAL,” as my kids often hilariously announce. I can’t stand to look out the window and see the gathering darkness shortly after I’ve finished my lunch. A few hours later, I scream into the void, “For the love of God, the sun is going down and it’s not even four o’clock yet!” For the record, as I type this, today’s sunset will be at 5:00 sharp and I couldn’t be more disappointed in the universe.

I realize this practice has been in place since the early 1900s, but come on already. We’re sick of it. At least I am. It feels like it’s midnight just after I’ve left the dinner table. I stand at the windows and stare out into the inky blackness, wondering what happened to the sun. And if I’m driving, I’m more than a little disturbed to see headlights IN THE AFTERNOON. What’s more, it’s beyond confusing for pets. Dinnertime is all messed up, which necessitates a liberal amount of whining and begging for food an hour before the appointed time. I’m confused, too, watching people in the street walk their dogs, but all I can reliably see is a flashlight wobbling in the darkness or maybe a blinking collar. Here’s hoping the dogs can see well enough to poo in the right place. Watch your step, people.

All that aside, thankfully, I own a therapeutic lamp that emits artificial sunlight for as long as my mental health demands it. It’s a compact, adjustable beacon of light that delivers 10,000 lux and a healthy dose of hope that the spring equinox will eventually arrive. And despite my lack of a medical degree and a wealth of experience in the field, I’ve diagnosed myself with Seasonal Affective Disorder, more affectionately known as SAD, which is an especially apt acronym because the lack of sunlight makes me sad. That said, I need the sun to function normally. I’m basically a houseplant, only less photosynthesis is involved. Apparently, a lot of my friends and family have struggled with the disorder as well and many of them have a similar type of lamp to help them get through days that are gray and dreary.

Of course, I first have to motivate myself to haul the lamp from the depths of our hutch where it’s housed for more than half the year, wedged in-between a boatload of holiday décor and way too many candles. Naturally, everything usually comes crashing to the floor when I attempt this delicate operation since the items in question were jammed in there so that everything could fit, without much thought to retrieval. But it’s worth it in the end. I plug the lamp in and instantly bask in the glow of 10,000 suns—or thereabouts. Now I can read, pay bills and even write this column with a smile as long as I have my invaluable companion by my side—no matter what the clock says.

Welcome to my world. It’s where I live (probably behaving like a plant, soaking up sunlight, artificial or otherwise). Visit me there at www.facebook.com/NotesFromPlanetMom. Signed books are available on Etsy at PlanetMomMarket.

There is a Season…For Every Quirk

When it comes to nature and the great outdoors, I have some idiosyncrasies. Quirks, you might call them—multitudes of peculiarities for every season under the sun. I have no way of knowing how many of these I share with all of mankind, but I’d bet some of them are not unique to me.

For starters, I can’t go for an autumn walk without stepping on the crisp leaves that have fallen in the street. I can’t begin to express how satisfying I find the corresponding crunch beneath my feet. It’s a rule—I have to crush them, sometimes great bunches of them all at once. Of course, it’s equally satisfying to kick piles of leaves as I walk or to watch children do the same. Likewise, I can’t resist a falling leaf without trying to catch it midair, taking me back to my youth and many a sundrenched afternoon spent chasing them with my brother. What’s more, I feel compelled to rescue woolly bear caterpillars from the middle of the street, transporting them to a grassy or woodsy area where they can continue their wanderings.

Similarly, I like to catch fireflies at dusk for as much of summer as humanly possible, and listen to the chorus of crickets and peepers as night falls, awaiting the magic when stars begin to emerge in the east. I’m fascinated by dragonflies, too, as they skim the surface of a pool or a pond with expert precision, their iridescent wings gleaming in the sun. And as trips to the beach go, I can’t possibly refrain from walking barefoot in the sand and surf. Nor can I pass by an opportunity to build a sandcastle or gather seashells by the bushel. To me, collecting seashells is one way to bring a bit of the gritty sand and briny scent of the ocean home—not to mention countless memories.

Winter is no different with respect to my oddities. I have to catch snowflakes on my tongue, and taste the earthy, almost dirt-like flavor of a handful of snow as a general rule. Naturally, I have to build snowmen, too—even if they’re miniature and somewhat misshapen. I try to situate them somewhere near a window, so I can watch them melt in the spring. I say, you’re never too old to build a snowman. It’s a project worthy of anyone’s time. On that note, I’m also especially fond of feeling the warmth of the sun in mid-January, and I only recently learned there’s a term for it—apricity. It gives one hope in the dead of winter that spring will eventually arrive, along with its warmth. Never mind the biting cold air during those endless months. Besides, there’s something truly exhilarating about filling one’s lungs with it—especially on a crisp, blue-sky day, surrounded by snow and its blinding white light. Those are some of the best days to soak in what winter has to offer, in my opinion.

No matter the season, I am always captivated by the moon, in all its various phases; but I am especially transfixed by a full moon on the rise—massive and gloriously yellow. Even in the wee hours if I happen to awaken and notice the room bathed in moonlight, I feel compelled to go to a window and gaze at its striking beauty. In fact, I’ve been known to text people GO LOOK AT THE MOON, even if they don’t share my unbridled enthusiasm for it. Just ask my kids.

Furthermore, I find it virtually impossible to pass a white pine tree without reaching out to feel the incredibly soft needles or breathe in the sweet, citrusy scent. Likewise, I can’t resist touching my favorite tiny pine cone on the hemlock in our backyard every time I pass near it. Yes, I have a favorite pine cone. And it has become a ritual to find it hiding within the branches and gently boop it as if it were a dog’s nose.

Likewise, if a red-tailed hawk circles above me or a flock of Canada geese happens to pass overhead, honking emphatically, I have to stop whatever I’m doing, crane my neck and watch. Naturally, I must point out such things to anyone nearby as well. It’s a rule.

The older I get, the less embarrassed I am about my quirks, especially the ones related to nature. Instead, I try to embrace them, throughout every season under the sun.

Welcome to my world. It’s where I live (listening for Canada geese). Visit me there at www.facebook.com/NotesFromPlanetMom. Signed books are available on Etsy at PlanetMomMarket.

Hot Mess

It may sound a bit strange, but I have a slight obsession with snowmen. The indoor décor variety, more specifically, designed to be displayed throughout the house—several of which were handcrafted by my daughters in grade school. That makes them even more special, I think. I realize that spring is just around the corner and that most people have probably stowed that sort of thing away already. But not me. I can’t bear to banish them to the attic with the rest of our holiday decorations. Call me crazy.

When our kids were little and even a little biggish, we spent countless hours building snowmen, snow forts and snow furniture together in the yard—sometimes with neighbors, sometimes with grandparents and sometimes after dark. I’ll never forget the night we built two gigantic snowmen at the edge of our property facing the street so that our bus driver, Helen, could see them when she arrived in the morning. I think she was pleased. Without question, those times spent in the snow represent some of my favorite memories harvested from parenting. Maybe that’s partly the reason I keep the snowmen around—a little reminder of the good days that were had.

Or maybe my shrine to snowmen (and cutout snowflakes for that matter) has more to do with the fact that my love for winter has grown exponentially since the advent of menopause. I used to be a “summer person.” Not so much anymore. Hot flashes are no picnic. Neither is weight gain, brain fog or night sweats. I’ve had them for ELEVEN YEARS and counting. That’s longer than we’ve endured Trump—which is really saying something.

Not surprisingly, I’ve purchased special (very expensive) “menopause pajamas,” read tons of books and articles on the subject, talked with numerous doctors about my sufferings, tried various medications, both over-the-counter and prescription, and have come to the conclusion that I’m doomed. Or maybe it’s just that God hates me. Probably both.

Thankfully, I was gifted two personal fans to help with my miserable situation, in the event that the batteries wear out and I need a replacement. One of them is ideal in that it’s small, lightweight and designed to be hand-held. Plus, its fan blades are really soft and flexible so that when they hit my face, I don’t take an eye out. The other one is super quiet, has three speeds and is actually wearable—for my insufferably hot neck area, of course. When I switch one on, my husband instinctually moves away from me, because obviously, the last thing I need is his body heat adding to my inferno.

I’m sure that man just shakes his head when he finds me lying on the tile floor like a dog. In my defense, I knew our dogs were on to something. Cold air sinks and central air-conditioning can only do so much in the stifling heat of summer.

What’s more, I set the bedroom temperature at a cool 67 degrees and sleep with a ceiling fan on even in the dead of winter. Yes, my husband hates it. But he loves me (I think) and takes one for the team every night. While he’s burrowed beneath the blankets, I’m flipping my flipping pillow over to the cool side umpteen times a night, ripping the sheets off and hanging one leg off the bed so that, for at least a moment, I can catch a breeze from the aforementioned ceiling fan that’s just trying its best. Sad to say that a lot of nights, spooning is out of the question. In lieu of that, he sometimes retrieves a spare fan out of his nightstand and holds it over my face in the dark. Not to worry; the blades on that one are soft and pliable, too.

What’s weird is that I can be minding my own business, completely comfortable with the air temperature around me and then out of nowhere I feel a wave of heat so intense I’m sure it came from the depths of hell. It then rises from the base of my skull, eventually enveloping my entire head and body. As an added bonus, my glasses fog up and I sprout a tiny sweat mustache. Talk about a hot mess. That’s an understatement.

Welcome to my world. It’s where I live (probably building a snowman in the lawn). Visit me there at www.facebook.com/notesfromplanetmom. Signed books are available on Etsy at PlanetMomMarket.

Comments Off on Hot Mess

Filed under Captain Quirk, Rantings & Ravings, We Put the Fun in Dysfunction

Tagged as hot flashes, humor, menopause, parenting, snowmen, winter, women

February 24, 2026 · 3:39 pm

Sunspots

My indoor cats know where it’s at—basking in the sunspots throughout the house. Those warm and welcoming havens where the sun streams in through the windows and pools on the floor and furniture below are especially inviting on these cold, wintry days. They’re no fools. They know it makes perfect sense to curl up in a place where heat is literally raining down from the sky, warming their bodies through to the bone.

I can tell just by looking at their furry faces how euphoric this makes them. The way they turn their heads toward the source and slow blink as if to say, “Don’t bother me; I’m in a zone.” What I find hilarious is watching said cats squabble over what is apparently prime real estate—a two-foot square expanse of hardwood flooring in a corner of our living room that is bathed in sunlight nearly every morning. If I could fit there (and if I got up earlier), I’d be hijacking it myself.

I’m like a house plant, only less photosynthesis is involved.

It’s not as if we set the thermostat below a reasonable temperature and we’re all freezing to death. It usually hovers right around 70 degrees. It’s just that the sun streaming in feels so ridiculously good—especially on bare feet. And if it’s a blue sky type of day, the sunspots appear on the northwestern side of the house in the afternoon too, providing even more opportunities for lounging in the warmth.

So I guess it’s not the least bit surprising that I, much like our cats, follow the sun in winter. Housebound, I find myself seeking out the shafts of light pouring in and soaking it all up before the clouds close in or night falls. If I didn’t look like a complete idiot, I’d be tempted to sprawl out on the floor just like the cats and devour every sliver of sunlight to be had—charging my batteries so to speak. It’s no wonder almost every vehicle I ever owned came equipped with a sunroof, lest I be deprived of a solitary photon.

For what it’s worth, there’s an amusing YouTube and Instagram video about northerners enjoying February sunshine on a family vlog and blog called Story of This Life. It’s created by Thad and Esther Anderson and I highly recommend you check it out (with the volume on) for a good laugh. The woman in question practically transforms into a cat as she slinks over furniture, stairs, walls and flooring to absorb every available ray of sunshine in her home. These past few months she has become my spirit animal.

What’s more, I sort of identify with the solar panels we had installed on our roof last summer. They love the sunshine, but have been more than a little frustrated by the snow and ice still covering a good portion of their surface. Let the melting begin.

I suppose I should take my husband’s advice and use my Miroco Light Therapy Lamp more often, particularly on gray days when it’s not very sunny. It’s a nifty device for people who suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder (that I, of course, diagnosed myself) that simulates natural sunlight without UV rays. It has multiple brightness settings, a timer and it swivels for convenience. For whatever reason, though, I just don’t seem to be inclined to fetch it from the bowels of our cabinet where it’s housed. Maybe because I know in my heart of hearts it’s not the same as actual sunlight. Obviously, my cats think it’s a marvelous idea to use it in lieu of competing for their precious sunspots.

Little jerks.

Welcome to my world. It’s where I live (probably lying in a sunspot, squinting like the cats). Visit me there at www.facebook.com/notesfromplanetmom. Signed books are available on Etsy at PlanetMomMarket.

1 Comment

Filed under Me Myself and I, Normal is Relative, Love and Other Drugs, Unplugged, Gratitude

Tagged as humor, winter, writing, cats, February, sunshine, Seasonal Affective Disorder, sunspots

January 24, 2026 · 1:42 pm

Great Expectations

In the dark of predawn I lay in bed, tucked snugly beneath my downy comforter, sleet pinging against the windowpanes in soft yet fitful waves. Against all odds associated with parenthood, no one under the age of eight burst into the room to announce that the sky was falling. Translation: my husband and I had had the presence of mind to skip setting the kids’ alarm the night before, in anticipation of inclement weather almost certain to arrive by daybreak. So for a time, all was silent in this good house—except for the ticking of clocks and the tiny taps at the window.

As the not-so-surprising news of yet another school cancellation reached my ears in the wee hours that day, I was filled impossibly with hope. Hope that I would enjoy a morning devoid of the madness I had known all too well since September. Hope for a day abundant with hot cocoa, kindness and good cheer. Hope that I might finally summon the strength and ambition to take down the blasted Christmas tree. The one that has been standing very nearly straight in my living room for the past 63 days, mocking me on Inauguration Day as I addressed my cache of shamefully belated holiday cards.

The tree had to come down. It would come down. It was January 28^th for Pete’s sake. Besides, I was tired of its condescending glare, as if it were looking down its boughs at me, judging my every deficiency. Shaming my inadequate core.

Moreover, with my army of helpers that would likely be at my disposal ALL DAY (since no one wanted to frolic in the freezing rain), I banked on being able to pack up and stow away each and every jingle bell, snowman, Santa likeness and string of garland-y foolishness in the entire house. To reclaim my space. At least until Easter.

Needless to say, lots of people here agreed that it was high time. “Mom, you know we’re going to get arrested, don’t you?”

“Arrested? For what?!”

“Because January’s almost over and we don’t even have our Christmas tree down yet! We’ll all be thrown in jail!”

“Whaaaaat?! Who’s going to throw us in jail?”

“The Holiday Police.”

“The Holiday Who?!”

“The Holiday Police. They arrest people who don’t do stuff right—like taking Christmas trees down BEFORE Groundhog Day. Helloooooooooo.”

She had a point.

All I had to do was glance at the calendar and then at the muddled mess surrounding me. Remnants of the holiday season were everywhere. The Christmas lights were (and still are!) completely shrouded with ice and fused impossibly to the trees and shrubs outside. The stockings were still hung—and shockingly, still laden with beloved items that had been tragically forgotten since Santa’s celebrated arrival. Gifts of every size, shape and hideous stage of disarray lay like carnage throughout the house and under the aforementioned evergreen, gloriously bedecked with enough ornament-age for a forest. Legions upon legions of festive-looking dishes, alarmingly bare except for the smarmy trail of cashews and the red and green fleckage of holiday M&Ms, still rested upon my tabletops, whispering without end, “Pleeeease cleeeean meeeee.” Santa’s cookie plate begged to be returned to the cupboard, the crèche longed to be back in the attic and quite frankly, the mistletoe was tired of hanging around.

What’s more, I noted that the kids had been swiping stuff from the tree for weeks—like the reindeer, now chummy with Barbie’s horses and sharing a corral, and the snowmen, warmly adopted by a family of Lego people. I even discovered a few sparkly ornaments dangling precariously from the rooftops of doll houses. Icicles maybe?

That said, it was way past time to begin the arduous process of un-decorating. Clearly, the snow day that had been bestowed upon us was a window of opportunity and perhaps the spark that would ignite my drive and determination to succeed in spite of myself. At least that was the plan.

But it was not to be. My great expectations for the day were shot by 10 am and my hopes for a tidier living room were all but dashed. For all intents and purposes, the thorny pine had become rooted there, a glaring reminder of my ineptitude as a putter-away-of-holiday-hoo-ha. Instead we frittered away the time, putting six puzzles together, littering the house with Barbie dolls and dresses, devouring books, stuffing ourselves with chocolate-chip pancakes and lounging in our pajamas till it was almost evening—at which time I sent my brood outdoors to play in the snow that had FINALLY begun to fall in big, feathery flakes. A consolation prize for my efforts.

Then again, maybe my reward was the delicious chunk of time I spent fishing for puzzle pieces with my kids, eavesdropping on their Barbie powwows, listening to the ice hit the windows—safe and sound in this good house.

Planet Mom: It’s where I live (and where the Holiday Police are destined to arrive). Visit me there at www.facebook.com/NotesFromPlanetMom.