They say “cold hands, warm heart,” but I happen to live in Minnesota.
They say “cold hands, warm heart,” but my hands are almost always cold.
To be fair, my heart is almost always warm, too.
I like to think this is my natural state of being and has nothing to do with the temperature of my hands, but I guess you really never know.
Take, for example, today. We’re experiencing a heat wave, it’s in the 40’s in March. Hallelujah! My hands are not cold. And my heart still feels warm.
Baby girl is asleep, with her little tushy in the air and her face in my armpit. She snores lightly, her stuffy nose a remnant of the horrific cold that made its way through the extended family a few weeks ago. It’s 10am, her morning nap time. I hear my husband typing away in the other room, click-clack, click-clack.
The sun is shining, for once. I can hear the snow melting in veritable rivers down my roof. Maybe we’ll go for a walk, or at least drive to the grocery store with the windows down and the music blaring. Baby girl likes that, she likes to watch the world whiz by as mama sings at the top of her lungs.
This winter has been hard. My first winter as a stay-at-home-mom, with no excuse to leave the house and a series of blizzards that rendered our little shovel useless against the mountain of snow on the driveway and front walk. So home we stayed, in a cocoon of dry air and fuzzy blankets.
But finally, finally, we emerge. We are butterflies, our wings casting translucent shadows in the brave March sun. The sun that presumes to shine knowing we will likely have more snow before summer.
I aim to be like the sun. That radiating warmth that makes the world wake up. That sticks out his tongue at our bleak hibernation, that dares us to spread our arms out above us so high we could touch the sky, to stand barefoot on the deck when it’s 35 degrees outside and smile at the half-thawed town. The sun lays himself bare across the desolate Earth. I aim to be this bold, this effervescent, this unashamed of myself. To be the version of myself that is just a little less sad and a little less tired.
I want to run across fields of wildflowers, to climb mountains, to jump into water so clear I can see the bottom. I want to book a one-way ticket to Italy and sip wine in Tuscany. I want to climb ancient ruins in Mexico and find long-forgotten treasure in an old ceramic pot like a character in a video game. I want to feel awake again after a drowsy winter.
For now, though, I am in bed. Baby girl is snuggled against me while I write, the sun is fighting the good fight against the icicles outside my window, my hands are warm.
And my heart is warm.
My heart is so warm.