I am well aware that we now live in a place called New England. A place where seasons actually exist. But did I mention I’m from Miami? The land of 80F degree weather, warm Atlantic water, and flip-flops year round? Florida natives dust off leather coats when temperatures skim 70F degrees (seriously). Maybe this whole seasons ordeal is still a novel concept for me.

The temperature gauge on my dashboard read 70F degrees last weekend, this Sunday 40F. Believe me, when it’s near 65F degrees, I’m already knee knocking in a tightly wrapped sweater. But this weekend it was cold, really cold. Well, cold in my tropically warped mind. And I wished to be nowhere but on my couch mummified in a fleece blanket. But a toddler can only be confined in an ecru walled apartment for so long before they start begging for non-recycled air. So what did I do? I did what many moms apparently do- I buckled my daughter securely in her car seat, and headed straight over to Chuck-E-Cheese (insert image of white flag waving from car antennae).
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