"Hate the Baby Syndrome", Coldness

I am not really a "fan" per say of winter. I fully realize that this is not a new revelation but one that has been covered in excruciating detail in previous posts. I'm not fired up about the whole global warming thing either....but that's another post for another day. Anyway, I would like to reiterate the fact that I? HATE HATE HATE THE COLD.

Personally, I think that this fear/hate/loathing is the direct result of a traumatic incident of my youth.

First, I should inform you that I am the oldest of four children. That means that I experienced not one, not two, but THREE episodes of "hate the baby" syndrome. The second-to-last episode was the worst. When my mother was expecting my baby sister (the last episode), my younger sister and I decided that we were not so much interested in another sibling as we were in a poodle. We begggged for a poodle. We NEEDED a poodle. Why? I do not know. I guess we've always been a little high maintenance.SO,we did not get a poodle. We got a sister. We called her Poodle. We still do. Anyway, we were pretty used to not being the centers of attention (I know, feel SORRY FOR US)so we just sort of dealt with it by pretending that she was not so much a "baby" as a "dog".

You see, when "the boy" was born there was a massive freak attack. In a family of five granddaughters and ONE grandson, being a girl is not so much something special as something that inspires fear and regret due to the immediate realization that shoes? are expensive. Make up? is expensive. Louis Vuitton? IS EXPENSIVE.

Anyway, when my brother was born it was all "Thank You Jesus" and everyone was collectively amazed because, Hi! a boy! SO, because no one wanted to watch our tap dance shows and have tea parties with us anymore, my sister and my cousins and I were stricken with the worst case of "hate the baby" yet.

Symptom included:
Whenever asked, "how is your little brother doing?" I would reply "we gave him away" or "he left" or "mom doesn't like him", my sister gradually caught on and even took it a step further to inform all inquisitive persons that my parents and my brother? DIED. They had not. This lead to some interesting conversations:

Adult: How are your mommy and daddy and new baby brother?

Caro: They died.

Adult: Ummm.....noooooo. They're at home, remember? You came with your grandma!

Caro: She died too.

Adult: You're an odd little person.

Caro: It's true, just ask my sister.

Adult: Now Lauren, please be a big girl and tell the truth.

Self: Yes ma'am. They are not dead, but we hate them all so they might as well be.

Adult: .....

That gets us to why, on one fateful day in January, my hatred for all things not warm began. I was fed up with being ignored and more than a little pissed that my mother would not stop cooking long enough to watch my autobiographical play entitled "Why I Hate My Family" (a cautionary tale of a young girl whose parents neglected her, refused to watch her roller skating shows, taste her Easy Bake Oven delicacies and had the audacity to ask her "can't you play that somewhere else?" so she ran away and joined a travelling circus and her family spent the rest of their lives searching everywhere for her because they felt SO COMPLETELY MISERABLE for ignoring her talents...shut up). The play starred Nibbles (our three legged dachshund) Caro (who played the part of "Anastasia" a.k.a. "ME") and assorted dolls, stuffed animals and a pillow with a belt and a hat that played the part of the ecstatic ring leader of the circus (he was ecstatic because he had NEVER found ANYONE with the kind of talent Anastasia possessed. Again, shut up.) SO, the stage was set. The actors were in place. I had positioned myself in the front "row", prepared to verbally disembowel anyone who fucked up my play and

......we waited

........and waited

Five minutes later (I've never been very patient) I stormed into the kitchen all, "EXcuse me MOTHER but you are MISSING my play!!!!!" to which my mom replied, "can't you practice a few more times? I'm cooking dinner and your brother needs to be fed and your dad had to stay late at work.."

All my little eight year old head herd was, "bla bla bla, you aren't worth my time"

Retaliation was swift.

I immediately stormed upstairs, put on my coat and hat, packed a few essential items in a bag (a Polly Pocket and my latest copy of Hi Lites magazine)and stormed out the front door yelling something subtle like "I AM RUNNING AWAY".

At the time, we were living on about one hundred acres. The front of the house faced a big field, the back faced some pretty thick woods. Guess which I picked.

After walking as far into the woods as I could get without crawling through underbrush, I sat down and proceeded to play with Polly Pocket.

And then, it started to snow. Not a little snow. A TRUCK LOAD of snow. Almost as if the heavens had opened up and articulated "Greetings O Bratty One! See what happens when you threaten your parents?" in the form of wet coldness.

I know, what the fuck? I imagine my eight year old self was thinking something along those lines, but less profane.

I live in ALABAMA. It is cold, yes......but snow?

This "snow" that I am referring to would later be known as the "Blizzard of '93". It took about a half of an inch falling from the sky to make me realize that my plan had been foiled by mother nature. I imagine my mental process went something like this:

"Snow? SNOW! I BET I DON'T HAVE TO GO TO SCHOOL TOMORROW. Which is....AWESOME. I hate stupid school and stupid Mrs. Chisolm and her STUPID "no no tree". I can't believe she made ME sign the dumb tree just because I wouldn't share my crayon with icky Christopher. I mean, Christopher! who is a BOY! and therefore is not capable of producing the type of artistic GOLD that I am only able to create WITH MY CRAYON."

****

"Ummm, this doesn't really look....ummm...familiar..."

****

"I have been WANDERING for HOURS (more like seconds) and SURELY I will freeze to DEATH in a SOLID BLOCK OF ICE LIKE BUGS BUNNY."

****

SO, I wandered in the blizzard for oh......minutes? The pathetic part is that I was so cold that I was crying. The snow was flying into my eyes so I had to pull my hat down over them and wander around bumping into trees until my little eyeballs were warm enough to see for a while. I made my way out of the woods and by the time I had gotten to the front door everything was covered by a blanket of snow. I ran inside to inform everyone that IT IS OK! I AM ALIVE. As you've probably guessed, my mom yelled from the kitchen that she would be in to see the play in a minute and could I please not scream like a banshee. Caro was still sitting on the "stage" playing with a Barbie. They never realized I had been gone. Anyway, ever since I have been petrified of freezing to death, in a solid block of ice a'la Bugs Bunny. Unfortunately, this little phobia has created a "problem" in the form of a power bill exceeding four hundred dollars.

Hope you're all staying warm!