Mushy rain, mushy brain

The weather here, frankly, is rather dreadful. I can't find many redeeming qualities about it, except that it forced me to enjoy a mom-and-baby lunch with Cora this afternoon at the Sunlight Cafe.

First of all, in my past life (as in last month, that was so last year), I would have high-tailed us to the Zoomazium or the Children's Museum or the Aquarium or a fun bookstore or any number of fun and interesting indoor Seattle havens. But I have to admit to feeling a bit burned. B and I have been talking about germophobia, the definition of which, for me, has always been hey there, would you mind letting me know if your child is sick before we get together for a play date? (I am still a bit mystified by people who don't think they need to mention to me that their child has a cold and is running around with drippy green boogers the size of Godzilla.)

While I'm a big fan of hand washing, I've never owned Purell or those wipey sanitizing cloths some people drag around with them and pull out at germ-filled moments, brandishing them like a flag as they wipe down snot-encrusted grocery carts or freshen up a swing. In fact, I think I've been pretty good about letting Cora explore her world without telling her to stop because she might get sick.

But there have been some moments when I've quivered with distrust and frustration, when I've hated the process of watching her exploratory steps encounter germs in our urban environment, a few of them quite memorable. Here is just a sampling of some of the more salient moments that have compelled me to gag:

*While I hurriedly searched for a pile of entertaining picture books, Cora proudly approached me and handed up a pile of grass-encrusted dog poop from off the carpet of our local library, tracked in by an innocent young shoe.
*She picked up an immunization band-aid from the playground, and studied the stain on the white pad.
*We were walking around Green Lake and I took Cora out of the stroller so she could explore. She proceeded to do her usual daisy-picking/grass-plucking/rock-rolling thing until I turned away for ONE SECOND and she bent down and ran her hand through a loogie. This was by far the most horrifying moment, seeing my child test the consistency of a stranger's mucus. I have nearly erased this sentence 10 times because I am so embarrassed that I didn't catch it in time, and I still feel guilty.

So there. We got through these moments and lived to tell the tale. I'm not a germophobe (although by now you might be thinking I should be). Yet, all of those moments never resulted in Cora getting sick. Those events have all followed classes and play dates in indoor play areas. With our new found freedom after I quit my job, I took it upon myself to explore everything, enjoying my immense luck of having a newly-minted toddler. Until I began to experience one of the worst flu seasons I can remember. Now I am just annoyed that we couldn't have launched our new life during the summer months, lallygagging by the wading pool, skipping rocks at the beach, running through the zoo OUTSIDE instead of happily sucking down flu season at indoor locales.

Don't get me wrong. I'm glad Cora is developing a strong immune system. I firmly believe it's more important for her to make friends than to be sequestered in our house while we avoid germs. And I'm grateful beyond measure that she's relatively healthy and hasn't battled anything more complicated than the flu. I'm just ready for warm weather, a break from the snot, and some more freedom.

So, today's mushy rain-snow confusion has not been welcome. Cora is grumpy and trying to bring in five teeth, including molars, all at once, while I grit my teeth and look out the window trying to bring myself to go someplace where I know a flu virus is sucking happily on the surface of a toy, waiting to pounce on my daughter.

Which is why I am constantly battling wanderlust. I keep imagining a sunny climate would make things better. I'm not in love enough with this region, I guess, to make it through winter without some serious grumbling.

All this being said, I had a few moments this week when I felt like I could possibly renew our contract with the Northwest:

*Walking around Green Lake while crocus and daffodils fluttered in the breeze.
*Starting "studio night" with B on Tuesday and Thursday evenings. He draws, I write, and the house feels cozy and tight while Cora slumbers.
*Playing in the backyard after B mowed the lawn, and examining our apple tree for buds.
*Feeling a warm Saturday sun on our faces and making a tasty meal with the windows open.

The funny thing is, I sat down to tell you about a lovely mom-and-daughter lunch I just had with Cora at the Sunlight Cafe, the gist of which was--hey, rain can be cool, it makes you bond with the people you love--and I got seriously derailed. So, lunch was great. We go out of the house, we were fortified by healthy food, and we stopped whining. We sat across from each other and she waved at everyone and gave them these over the top smiles she's into these days where she scrunches her face as much as she can, crinkling her eyes and shrugging up her shoulders and smiling smiling smiling. She was on her best behavior, sitting up straight in her highchair and carefully eating her vegetables and buttered bread. She kept her hat on, a spot of pink in an otherwise subdued atmosphere. She threw nothing on the ground. She drank from her glass and didn't spill. She made eyes at our server and blew kisses to the neighboring tables. She chewed thoughtfully on her teething biscuit and ate the whole thing.

She was, in a word, delightful. She was everything I have ever wanted in a small companion, and she's mine.