Law School Widow: Winter blues

"SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder) is a type of winter depression that affects an estimated half a million people every winter between September and April; in particular during December, January and February."

from: http://www.sada.org.uk/

Most people just call it the winter blues. I call it the snag in my husband's plans.

For me, seasonal affective disorder is less a feeling of depression than the daily experience of being buried under an avalanche of coats, hats, mittens, and scarves. It's the drudgery of dressing your children in long underwear, shirts and pants, sweaters, snow pants, boots, hats, and mittens - and then undressing them again to go potty before you have to leave. It's the heartbreak of wrestling down the baby who doesn't want to be stuffed under so much clothing that she can't stand up. It's misery of having to pull off your gloves to buckle the kids into their car seats when it's ten below. It's the horror of driving around in the snow and ice before the plows show up. It's the indignity of wearing sweatpants under my skirts. It's the monotony of staying indoors because going out is just too much trouble.

The five pounds I've put on since December haven't helped.

The temperatures plummeted in the past couple of weeks. 30 degrees is uncomfortable, but in a jacket and hat it's quite pleasant. 20 degrees requires an additional layer, but in small doses can be honestly described as "brisk". 10 degrees begins to be unpleasant. Gloves and long underwear are mandatory. At zero degrees the kid gloves and just about everything else in my wardrobe are on. Ten below is painful. No amount of clothing suffices. Exposed skin burns like flayed flesh. the cold seeps deep below the skin, past the protective layer of adipose tissue, through the viscera, into the bones where it spreads like creeping vines from the extremities towards the warm core. Once it reaches the core, you're done. Physically and emotionally, I shut down and despair. Will I ever feel warm again?

My parents and my sister and brother-in-law came to visit this past week. It was a small glimmer of Texas sunshine in the midst of this drab Chicago winter gloom. They came bearing Longhorn and Spurs regalia and grandparently love. We soaked it in like the rays of a sun lamp.

My parents read me like the chic lit uber drama that I am, and set out to give me a week off, taking me and the kids to the finest kosher restaurants, and best of all, letting the kids camp out in their hotel room for a night. It was heaven.

On Thursday night, my parents and I bundled up the children, their sleeping bags, and suitcases. Just getting the kids out of the house was a two hour production. Even with three adults, dressing the kids, packing up their suitcases and backpacks, and getting directions and strict instructions (have them at school at 8:30 sharp!), was a trial. My parents just shook their heads and muttered to themselves, "How do you do this by yourself?"

According to the Seasonal Affective Disorder Association: "Light therapy has been shown to be effective in up to 85 per cent of diagnosed cases. That is, exposure, for up to four hours per day (average 1-2 hours) to very bright light, at least ten times the intensity of ordinary domestic lighting."

The other fifteen percent have children.

My husband and I made the most of our freedom. We went to a bar for a law school association party. I don't know what association, and after my second drink, I wasn't even sure which law school. We left the party and wandered into a movie theatre to see what was playing. After some debate we settled on "Pan's Labyrinth", a beautifully conceived, filmed, and acted fairy tale story set in Franco's Spain. It was gripping, sweet, violent and heartbreaking.

A poor choice for a woman in the grips of the winter blues.

Even better than staying out late on a fun and fascinating date with my husband, was getting to sleep in late. Not too late, though. I still had to drive the carpool the next day.

The best part of the week was Friday night, Shabbat dinner. My sister and her husband flew in from New York, joining my parents, my cousin and her boyfriend, and us for food, relaxation, and laughter. And great, sparkly and soft slippers from the aptly named Tia Mirth, Aunt happiness.

On Sunday we went out for a Middle Eastern brunch and a last hug goodbye.