A letter, from Mother Nature to her children. (published here: http://www.robotbutt.com/2018/03/21/mother-nature-snows-best)
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Listen here, you whiners —
I’ve had it up to my mountains with all of your complaining about winter. You say you “hate the snow.” You “can’t feel your toes.” You “froze your tongue to the light pole.” (At least, I think that’s what you said. Couldn’t really tell with your tongue all weird and swollen.)
Well I, Mother Nature, am here to straighten a few things out. I’m tired of fielding calls from the Child Protection Services just because you sprained your tailbone after slipping on some black ice or because my latest storm made it impossible for anyone to come to your destination wedding (you should be thanking me for that — the reason you have a destination wedding is so no one will go). Winter is here to stay, whether you like it or not.
Let me remind you wimps that making winter happen takes a lot of effort. Those howling winds that cut through even your heaviest down jacket? All of that huffing and puffing gave me asthma, but you don’t hear me complaining about it. Flood swept away your house? Check out the terrible blisters on my hands from wringing out those rain clouds. And all of those snowflakes? Each one is handcrafted, locally sourced, and has a different design. Your puny brains could never handle the trillions of permutations I have to calculate — although I gotta say, I got this new app and it has really helped a lot. Frankly, I was never that good at math.
A lot of this is your fault, you know. I tried to warn you — I sent you soooo many signs — but you got yourselves addicted to fossil fuels. Don’t you know what oil does to my skin? Let alone the rest of me? Only my brave and determined efforts are keeping the weather patterns even close to what the farmer’s almanac says they should be. (But I’ll be honest: I’m not doing a great job. Hopefully you haven’t noticed the ice melting in the Arctic.)
Remember, I’m doing all of this alone. While I was cleaning up the mess the dinosaurs left, Father Nature disappeared and I haven’t seen that deadbeat since. As a single mom, I’m doing the best I can, but it’s hard when there are billions of you — you’re all so demanding! Summer in one hemisphere; winter in the other. Earthquakes for California; monsoons for India. So sometimes, I drop the ball. Sue me. (This snowstorm in March was scheduled for December, but last year’s hurricanes really backed me up so I ended up missing your white Christmas. Sorry.)
I could just put my feet up and let global warming give you the balmy break from balaclavas (or is it baklava?) and bad weather you so obviously want. But I won’t. Why not? Why do I work so hard? Because I am your mot-her: I have to do what’s best for you. And sometimes, like root canals and colonoscopies, those things are unpleasant. Seasonal depression makes you appreciate spring. When you say “bomb cyclone”, I say “building character.” We have to throw away last season’s leaves to make room for new couture. These are just the facts of life that make you stronger.
Basically, I’d like you to stop complaining. I’m just doing my job as best I can to keep this entire planet and all of you dumb, unappreciative kids alive. If I hear another negative word out of you, you’ll be snowed in your room for the next week.