My Timehop app tells me that two years ago on this exact day I was complaining about the sNOw outside my window which leads me to believe that we always fool ourselves into thinking that spring is spring in Toronto. Spoiler alert: It’s not. It’s Winter Part Deux. BRB, going to buy me one of those Jon Snow furry poncho cape armor type-outfits.

WHAT? I can totally pull this off. And black is slimming, right?

Seriously though, this weather is just depressing, especially as a photographer. I just want to be outside so I can frolic with my camera and my new lens. I’m tired of bad lighting and flashes. I hate a flash and just want to take photos of fresh faces in good lighting. Also I am really quite sick of all the boots in my front hall—bring on the flip flops.

But it’s so cliche to be Canadian and talking about the weather isn’t it? It’s elevator conversation. But if you had to keep hauling out the tights every day you’d probably be unable to stop talking about it because tights really are the worst mostly because as a short person every pair of tights I buy can be a full, like, romper on me, and the useful control top does a really good job at controlling all the extra weight I carry at my neck. My poor, poor Emily is juuuust about at the height she’s going to be forever, and she’s juuuuust about the exact same height as her mama. I get to tell her all the good parts about being short, but I also feel the need to share the not-so-great parts including the tights dilemma and how she’ll soon become best friends with her tailor. Also, she’s thisclose to being able to start her forever shoe collection which is such a wonderful day for a lady.

Josh, on the other hand, I cannot afford to keep clothed and shoed, since 3 minutes after I buy him anything that fits, I have to buy the next size up. Is this what they mean by parenting leveling up? You should see what his bar mitzvah suit looks like on him. That was money well spent. He wore it…twice? Unless we can bring flood pants and 3/4 length suit sleeves back into style. I feel like friends and blog posts warned me that there would come a time that my tiny scrawny little boy would have a deepening voice and would eat me out of house and home and his bird-like eating ways made me pshaw at that, not my son! Only now, you guys, he has a deeper voice than his daddy and I literally have to grocery shop daily. Some mornings I come downstairs only to realize — based on the evidence left in the sink — that my son had a full midnight meal. Not a snack, mind you, A MEAL.

Although to be fair, last night at midnight Emily was eating cabbage rolls. My children seem to be in need of Mogwai rules: don’t feed them after midnight. Getting wet and bright lights can be negotiated.

I really hope this eternal winter ends soon, before I have to buy my son a new winter jacket in a size bigger.