When you live in Siberia, it is spring by the calendar (March 1st), not by the weather. I realized this the other day in a conversation with a friend and then it's been confirmed as I've tried out my theory with other people. Speaking of calendars, this is the picture on ours, when I flipped it to March today. Yep, seems about right.
Even to me, my definition of spring has changed drastically from what it used to be. When I look out the window and see a guy shoveling snow off of his garage (see above), I know that it's spring, as there's a remote possibility it'll rise above freezing soon. When it's snowing outside (as it is today), not only am I overjoyed that the black snow is covered with pretty white snow, but I know that it's warm enough to snow now. When I can put potatoes and onions in my kitchen cupboard again without them freezing rock solid (it's more like a refrigerator now), it's another sign of spring. When I don't need to wear long johns indoors, when I slip and fall outside on the ice (I did this the other day while holding Ella. She slept right through it)... these are all signs of spring. And I'm sure I'll think of a few more right after I click "publish post".
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