Observed in the Wild: Momus Canadensis

Observe… the elusive Canadian Mom in her natural habitat, mid-November. As the days shorten and temperatures drop, she begins a curious and deeply instinctual preparation ritual known only to her kind: hibernation.

After months of relentless activity, her body—worn by mere weeks of school lunches, work meetings and cart-rage at Costco—begins to slow. She is inexplicably exhausted. Her plumage changes. Gone are the breezy linens of July. She now dons fleece-lined leggings, oversized cardigans and socks that haven’t matched since 2003.

Here we see her emerge from her lair (mudroom), wrapped in six protective layers and a jacket that weighs more than her emotional baggage. Her gait is slower now—not from age, but from the weight of so many damn layers. She will soon begin the shedding process. At entrances. In piles. Everywhere.

Stockpiling begins in earnest. Watch as the Canadian Mom instinctively gathers her survival staples:

• Electric blankets (plural — one is merely decorative)
• Mending, ironing, thank-you correspondence and holiday cards she has no intention of completing
• Four half-used journals for “self-care” and 57 unread books she swore she’d get to this year
• Cheese – in bricks, wheels and string form
• Wine — boxed and blessed
•  A healthy stash of passive-aggression toward festive newsletters and anyone who skis “recreationally.”

As the temperatures drop, her social calendar does too. She begins her hibernation rituals, a marvel of maternal evolution. Excuses echo in the wind: “Weather’s iffy,” “My car is frozen,” or the increasingly common, “I lost the will to leave my house.”

Each morning, she adjusts her schedule to the changing barometer, devoting 5% of her morning to work prep, 15% to warming and scraping her vehicle, and 80% to digging out her SUV — which, like her will, is buried somewhere under last night’s snowfall. But make no mistake — this is not laziness. This is strategic survival. While the world demands productivity, the Canadian Mom conserves energy for real emergencies — like running out of wine.

By March, she’ll re-emerge: pale, powerful and slightly less patient. But for now, she rests, wrapped in fleece, fortified by charcuterie and her own irreverent grit.

 

Janet Smith is a proud mom of one daughter and a marketing professional who is grateful for her rural roots in the London area. Follow Janet’s funny and honest journey at IG & TT | @re.marketable.janet or FB | @janetsiddallsmith