Ode to Spring

I suppose I should begin this post with an overdue apology for dropping off of the metaphorical face of the earth last week.  While there were some forces out of my control (that I will share soon) keeping me from productivity, I still spent a great deal of time attempting to write the blog, worrying about not writing the blog, trying to think of subjects for the blog and, of course, determining which disastrous and epic events of our lives are even suitable to share on the blog.

But instead of accomplishing those tasks, I did nothing.  And it was glorious.

I'm back now, and feeling a bit more energetic and positive, undoubtedly due to the promise of spring in the air.  For the last couple of months, I've felt stressed, stretched thin and always teetering on the edge of packing up my children and mailing them any relative living outside my area code time zone.  When I confessed my anxiety in a blog post a few weeks ago, a very wise friend suggested that my emotional funk would probably dissipate along with the clouds and snow.  At the time, I scoffed at that comment, because I felt that my funk was as much a product of two hedonistic, defiant, persistently naughty germ-factories than it was due to the weather.

But then a funny thing happened.  Last Friday, the air was warm and the sun was shining, and, remembering that I have a fenced in backyard, I sent the boys out to play.

There was fresh air in my house for the first time in months.  I sat at the counter and did my nails.  I took my time making lunch and didn't worry that their meal of PB&J with applesauce didn't contain a proper vegetable.  I day-dreamed about bonfires and slip-n-slides and yes, even camping.  I saw that the boys' clothes and shoes were getting muddy and decided to let it go.  I drank in the peace and quiet of an unoccupied house and even the occasional yelp of one of my kids discovering a previously snow-covered pile of dog poop. 

And I realized that my friend was totally right.

Perhaps I've been suffering from winter-induced claustrophobia all along, and not a diagnosable urge to strap the kids to the roof of my van and drive through a thatch of trees with low branches.  After all, I wouldn't ever want them to get hurt, just taken down a notch, maybe, and I would certainly welcome the fresh scent of pine in my still-musty house.

So bring it on, Spring, and I'll try not to let my sarcasm and obvious cynicism squelch my new attitude like one of those unearthed piles of dog poop in my backyard. 

Oh, and thanks for the sunshine.