I’m hesitant to say Spring is here to stay. She’s a shy one, and I have photographic evidence (somewhere…) of snow falling on blooming dogwoods from some April past. So I won’t jinx it.
What I will do is love Saturday morning soccer games, play outside so long the smell of the sun sinks into my skin, run for cover for the brief minute a thunderstorm happens by with a wink and wave before letting blue skies through once more, cross creeks, duck below branches, trip through vividly green grass, and pretend I’m six all over again.
I love this weather. As in, l-o-v-e this weather. Have I ever told you how much I love this weather? Because I do. Love this weather, I mean.
I am blessed. Blessed. As in, b-l-e-s-s-e-d to be able to stay home while all the Supermoms are both employees elsewhere and full-time moms (there’s no such thing as a part-time mom, but there is such thing as part-time employees. Also, part-time daycares, and part-time calories. I don’t know if you know this, but the calories in chocolate go off-duty once the kids go to bed. Trust me. I was a math major).
Being a never-time employee elsewhere and a full-time mom means afternoon picnics when Bug gets home from school. It means soaking up the early morning sunshine on walks with Bean. It means playing kickball or soccer in the backyard before dinner because the housework has already been done. (I’m lying. It means I still don’t care about housework, even though I have the time to do it.)
This weather, the weather that I love, just to be clear, makes staying at home so much more rewarding than when everything was gray and dreary and cold and I got cabin fever something fierce.
I love this weather. I love my children in this weather. I love my children enjoying this weather.
I love dandelions, Bean’s fuzzy hair blowing in the wind, Bug the Explorer swearing he found a snake hole, Bean calling after her brother who scootered off into the distance, Bug’s sweaty hair matted beneath his bike helmet, neighbors who let my children pet their dogs, racing to the next bend in the trail, the feel of grass against bare skin, the smell of carefully tended lawns, and wind.
Spring, don’t be shy. We l-o-v-e you.
**Our neighborhood’s rainwater runoff