You know how I know when it's really freaking cold outside?
When my son actually declines an offer to run around outside like a wild banshee.
Yep, that's what happened this morning. We bundled up and went to Cheekwood to participate in the Tuesday morning kiddie art class. Afterward William "made" a groundhog puppet out of a paper bag, I suggested that we take a stroll...or a mad dash...around the grounds so he could burn off some of his endless energy.
About 25 yards into his run, the wind started to pick up. William slowed to a fast walk. Ten more yards down the deserted sidewalk, and he stopped. Brrrrr. No wonder no one else was outside. No wonder the shuttle bus driver kept trying to wave to me to come get on his bus. William peered up at me from under his baseball hat, which was mostly covered with the fleece-lined hood of his heavy coat, and said, "Mommy, I'm done. I don't want to run anymore." If it had been any warmer, I would have responded, "Who are you and what have you done with my son?" As it was, my teeth were chattering so hard that I couldn't say anything. So I grabbed his mittened hand, and we braced ourselves against the howling wind and beat a hasty retreat to the nearby art museum.
Why am I still so surprised that it gets this cold here in Nashville? We lived here last winter. I survived a half dozen snows last year. Am I really still at least partially in denial that it really does get bitterly cold here?