Name that poem. Seriously, please do. I tried to Google it, and got nothin’. I read it in a college lit class, and I have a feeling it’s by a chick named Rita, but I could be way, way off.
Anyway, this past weekend was lovely, in every sense of the word. It might be the end of January, and a certain groundhog will most likely see his shadow this week and foretell an extra long winter, and weather.com says it’s supposed to snow this Friday, but this past weekend was sunny and sixty, and all the kids on the block oozed out into the streets like…maggots? Earthworms? Maple syrup? I’m lacking, blame my Spring fever.
Which is exactly why I love living where I live. You never know what kind of weather you’re going to get here. End of January? Perfect for a late-March kind of day. Middle of April? You just might find snow falling on freshly-blossomed dogwoods. That’s just how we roll in east Tennessee, we don’t mess around.
So a sunny surprise in the midst of a long, record-breakingly snowy winter…it was glorious. And short-lived I’m sure, but it’s the price we pay for these nuggets of sunshine.
Here’s Bug and our next-door neighbor enjoying the sunshine. I’m guessing this is the precise moment they decided to throw the frisbee in Bug’s hand at our oak tree from across the yard. Somehow, as they got closer and closer to nailing the unsuspecting oak, they kept leveling up. I overheard Neighbor Kid say at one point, “That was a Level 6. I think it’s my turn now.” Of course it is. And how did Bug already get to Level 6? He missed the tree every single time. I freaking love kids and their games, particularly my kid. The other kid’s okay, too. Just kidding.
I’m pretty sure I’m obsessed with the young man in the Auburn jersey, and not just because he likes the orange and blue, or even because he has bad aim from across the yard and my oak tree (and the bird feeder in it) is perfectly safe from harm. I’m almost one hundred percent sure it has to do with the way he smells after playing outside all day, and the way he can pop a wheelie on his scooter, and the way he wears his Spider-Man helmet even after he’s done riding his bike or skateboard and I accidentally walk in on him taking a bathroom break and he’s still wearing the thing, and the way he goes a hundred miles an hour so long as his eyes are open, and the second his head hits the pillow, he gazes at me under a couple of droopy eyelids and says, “Mom, will you sing me a soft song?”
And then there’s this little Bean, whose fuzzy little head smelled exactly like sunshine after spending half an hour or so soaking up her Vitamin D. Okay, so I don’t know exactly what the sun smells like, but I know what Bean-in-the-Sun smells like, and it is intoxicating.
She rather enjoyed watching Bug and Co. sprinting from corner to corner of ours and our neighbors’ collective backyards, falling down, laughing, throwing things, and inventing all sorts of different games. And she really enjoyed when Bug took a break from all of the above to smooch her on the cheek. They are actually kind of perfect, my kids are.
So while I’m eager for Spring to get here and actually stick around, inflamed sinuses and all, I know that means that my little buggers are inching ever-closer to being another year older. That I am not eager for, even if it means afternoons at the pool and the air outside smelling consistently of grilled burgers.
But I will take this pocket full of sunshine, if no reason other than to sniff my children’s heads, and die of utter happiness.