From JuJu with Love

It’s January. I live in Michigan. There is snow on the ground. The temperature has a minus sign in front of it some days. None of this is surprising.

And yet, every winter, some of my family and friends act like I live on the moon.

My dad, who now lives in San Diego, keeps asking, “How’s the weather? How cold is it? How are you doing?”

For the record, my dad lived in Michigan for the first 60 years of his life. He knows exactly how cold it gets. He just seems to have blocked that memory along with rotary phones and snow tires.

My sister, who lives in Atlanta, sends me daily weather reports. “It’s 49 degrees here today.”

I’m told this in the same tone one might use to report a natural disaster.

Forty-nine degrees.

Friends in Florida text me, horrified. “How do you do it?”

“It’s 60 here and I’m freezing.”

Listen. It’s winter. In Michigan. This is not a personality flaw or a medical condition. We bundle up. We wear hats. We own coats that could double as sleeping bags. We understand layers. We go about our lives.

And honestly? I’d take this any day over being in New Orleans, Dallas, or Palm Beach in August. No way. Not happening. The humidity alone would end me. My hair would surrender immediately and file for divorce.

Cold has solutions. Heat just laughs at you.

Truthfully, if I didn’t have Maizey, I would be perfectly happy hibernating from December to March. Blanket over my legs. Fire in the fireplace. Netflix or Michigan sports on the TV. Hot tea in one hand. Zero guilt.

But I do have a dog.

So instead, I get up and walk her three times a day. Three hundred Sixty-five days a year. Snow, ice, wind chills that require a weather app and a moment of reflection.

She has not yet learned how to use the toilet.

So here we are.

So yes, it’s January. Yes, it’s Michigan. Yes, it’s cold.

And no—we are not confused, endangered, or in need of rescue.

We’re just bundled up, slightly overcaffeinated, and being bossed around by our dogs.

From JuJu with Love 💙❄️🐶