Sweater (n) - A knitted upper body garment that your mother makes you wear when she's cold

The weather in Iowa is cooling down. It’s furnace weather for most homes, though not for us since the dishwasher produces enough heat to keep our tiny home in t-shirt and shorts weather all night. Temperatures reach into the 50’s during the day, dip into the 30’s at night, and hover around 75 all night in my bedroom.

Outdoor weather is essentially over for the season. The kids still poke their heads outside occasionally, especially when they sneak through the door when the dog goes out, but otherwise we’re sequestered indoors until the great thaw. We could still venture outdoors to the park during warmer afternoons, but by the time we finish lunch and I single-handedly slip coats and shoes on everyone, it’s almost naptime. I’d rather encourage Abbie to bounce around the house for her daily exercise.

Of course we can’t spend all day everyday inside, no matter how much easier it is to sit on the floor reading the paper while the children play King of the Mountain on my hunched back. We have to venture outside into the soon-to-be-frozen tundra for essential errands, like doctor visits, procuring Vital Supplies, and picking up take out.

These brief trips from the building’s door to the car door create a dilemma: Do the kids really need their coats? They’re only going to be in the cold for a minute. They’re going to get too hot bundled in a coat and trapped in their car seats. I just spent ten minutes changing diapers and attaching shoes and socks; I don’t feel like spending an extra five minutes putting coats on everyone and recoating Abbie as she slips it off as fast as I can slip it on.

For now I let the coats slide as long as it’s not too cold and we won’t spend any significant time outside. Such was the case yesterday afternoon when I stepped outside before a Vital Supply run, saw the abundant sunshine, felt the 50-degree air nip at my cheeks, and said screw it. The sun kept the car’s interior warm, and the kids’ long-sleeve outfits would keep them warm enough during the sprint to store doors and back.

The coatless trip was uneventful. Not once did I hear anyone say, “I’m cold.” The only complaints I heard came from my 1,521st attempt to make Abbie eat pizza, this time from a vendor handing out free samples. Other people in the store were wearing t-shirts. If teenagers weren’t stuck in school, they would have been there in shorts assuming they were willing to demean themselves by appearing in a Vital Supply store. That didn’t prevent this conversation after a well-meaning middle-aged female cashier saw Abbie:

Cashier: “Where’s your coat?’
Me: “Bah. It’s nice out.”
Cashier: “Not that nice.”

I couldn’t argue with that logic, especially coming from someone who might not have stepped outside since walking into work that morning, presumably while huddled underneath a parka and several scarves.

Store employees aren’t supposed to question my parenting; they’re supposed to ring up my purchases with a smile and let me know when someone kicks off their shoe. Worse, I couldn’t shake the feeling that she was admonishing me because I’m, you know, male, and males can’t possibly know what’s best for their child, just like I couldn’t possibly have acted as the primary caregiver for my daughter for over two years and observed that as a baby she liked being exposed to the cool air more than being bundled under a blanket. Maybe if Ellie had been with me at the time she wouldn’t have said anything, or at least she would have directed her condescension to Ellie since she’s the woman and obviously the primary caregiver.

I shrugged it off and carted everyone to the car, hurrying because it was, you know, cool. We needed to move quickly to return home in time for naps anyway. The kids were all approaching naptime, and I was tired since I don’t sleep well with my bedroom being so warm at night.