peevish mama

Only a fool, or a three year old, would believe that spring is around the corner. Yes, the snow may be melting, slowly exposing street grime that can be carbon tested back to November. Yes, we can see patches of sodden grass and all manner of balls and toys that have been buried for months. But it’s only March 9, which means that we, my Minnesota friends, are far from finished. But if you’re like me, you are finished. You’re ding-a-ling-a-DONE. I’ve exhausted all my love for stews, reading, and cozy fires. I want crocuses, sunshine and pollen. STAT. Christmas, Valentines Day, Tiny Dancing and the Olympics are gone, leaving nothing to look forward to. The worst is over, yes. But as far as I’m concerned, the hard part starts now. The thaw in Minnesota is a long, drawn out, dramatic affair – it is Mother Nature being the biggest, most flamboyant tease she knows how to be. One step forward. Two steps back. Lubricated by a whole hell of a lot of mud. My kids have forsaken their winter coats for weeks now and I can hardly blame them. I feel the same way about my matronly puffer. But dare I wash them and put them away? Only if I want to bring about a giant blizzard followed by a freezing clipper. Sigh. At least our thick winter blood is coming in handy. Dash and I spent most of Sunday sitting on our stoop, reading the paper, watching the kids play, tilting our faces to the watery sun. My kids alternated between snow boots, rain boots and bare feet all day long. Some people might think we’re crazy. But we know we’re not crazy. We’re just desperate.