It was harder than usual to pry Ben out of bed this morning. He voiced what I was feeling.

"It's too cold. I'm staying in bed." He made it to the bus, barely, toast in hand, and I exhaled. But there were still chicken chores ahead of me. While letting the hens out is fun when there is actually grass, the snow covered ground was a dismal reward for coming down from the dormitories. I gave them extra corn and cooked up a bowl of rice. 

"Sorry girls. Tomorrow it goes up to forty. I promise."

The gray sky and whipping wind left me defeated. This was too bitter. Then I remembered that there are actually populations in Vermont and Maine. They know the odds. Why do they choose to live there? How do they make it to May?

A few words in google brought me a ream of answers. There are dozens of snow centric events that liven up the months of precipitation. Skiing, snowboarding, ice carvings, toboggan races and for the less precise, chances to slide down a mountain on a mattress. Then there is the stunning world of winter photography.

None of the faces in the pictures wore grimaces. They found reasons to stay.

I have a friend who has felt pretty icy toward her husband for awhile. Communication is sparse and their evenings were more of a stay-in-separate-parts-of-the-house strategy than a cuddle on the couch. 

Yet she is crazy about her children. She believes the libraries full of evidence that intact families are better for kids than shuttling back and forth. The book The Switching Hour  is comprised of comments from children about ping pong parenting. 

Then after a few years of endurance, she has come to acceptance. It is not the relationship she expected, but it's enough to come home to. Her face no longer has a frown. She found a reason to stay. 

Even if they are in different rooms.