I’ve never been one to appreciate the essence of spring – until this year that is. I wasn’t into pastels, didn’t appreciate flowers as much as my mother did, and wasn’t wrapped up in the prettiness of it all.
As a child, spring was a time to reignite neighborhood friendships that had gone dark over the winter months. It was baskets full of candy, and gardening with my grandparents.
As a teenager, spring was a means to an end – the “almost there” in the final stretch of the school year. It was the spring musical. It was getting excited for the seniors who would soon be moving on to bigger and better – decorating their lockers as a last hurrah.
I have memories of college springtime at IUP, with the fresh scent of the blooming oak grove, fruit smoothies from the bookstore coffee shop, and sorority formals.
So many fond memories, but I’ve never longed for the warmth of the sun like I have here as a stay-at-home mom. With toddlers sick of the same toys, the hundredth sheet of finger-painted paper, and the thousandth viewing of Disney movies, we are ready to run into the the sunshine.
I’m ready for coffee on the deck.
I’m ready for afternoons on the driveway drawing with chalk.
I’m ready for long walks in the park.
I’m ready for the grill – and the grass – and fresh veggies – and sunglasses.
We went to the park yesterday, and I was amazed how quickly hands and feet climbed, swung and slid – never forgetting the fun they’d had before the winter. Their instincts reignited, their excitement unable to be contained, their faces bathing in the warm rays of the sun.