Outside at last
In the absence of cute boy stories - because though Trey and Aden are still cute, they have become much more possessive of their stories - I thought I might fill the void with some spring talk.
After all, they spread new mulch at work. It is the unmistakable aroma of being outside. Close your eyes, breathe it in, and the mind goes directly to sweat and grime, aching hamstrings, weathered gloves clutching a pitchfork handle. Never have minded spreading mulch. Maybe it's the rush I get from pushing the wheelbarrow.
And after all, if you listen carefully in the dark, you can hear the tree frogs. Intoxicating sound. Welcome back, dear ones, you and your symphony of lazy evenings, rocking chairs, and a black sky overflowing with stars. There's nothing like the country, y'all.
I took some close-up, wannabe-artistic pictures of daffodil and forsythia baby buds for effect. And in doing so, without even knowing it, carried on a tradition of pre-spring yellow blossom photos. Apparently it's a lure I just can't resist, vivid life after months of gray.
But besides being so strikingly beautiful against a deep blue sky, those bright little sprouts are a perfect symbol for the newness and rebirth of spring.
How I love a fresh start, and we needed one.
It's a precious season with the boys. There aren't many milestones happening with any frequency. Obviously, anectodes of their sweet and funny antics are in short supply. It feels like all of us are growing up. We converse a lot around the kitchen table about different things. In this, maybe we are understanding each other more deeply, both ways, and I hope that this growing up will mean growing stronger together.
They joke, they plan, they random dance, they explain words and phrases to me that I have never ever heard before. They play trivia challenges with Alexa. They put their dishes in the dishwasher. They handle school morning routines like pros. Well, most of the time.
And they are always up for ball. Our kitchen court seems to get smaller and smaller as they grow, so we are thankful for this place. Maybe I'll never get picked first for a team, but if they'll keep playing with us as the years go by, that's good enough.
We have another game, me and my boys together. They would be mortified if I ever named it in writing, because it's honestly a bit childish. And yes, Trey and Aden are stil children, but they don't think they are. But this game brings us together every time. It's something we all enjoy so much, and has quieted more than a few arguments. Precious season indeed. Please, self, don't forget this.
Whether it's the changing relationship with the boys, getting through the whole surgery debacle, or the household slowly emerging from our plethora of winter sicknesses, spring is just awakening something in me. It's like hope, as if everything seems new again.
I've been walking at work. Nineties playlist in my ears. Giant sky above and skin tingling with the sun's warmth. Pounding feet, and every burst of breeze like a whisper of encouragement from God. I so need to take care of myself, and what a blessing to enjoy a piece of that. The track has made its way onto my list of happy places.
In mid-March fashion, we cheer on our Hoos, gear up for spring workouts and baseball season, and scramble around in Easter drama prep. All the while grateful for another fresh start. Praise the Lord.
After all, they spread new mulch at work. It is the unmistakable aroma of being outside. Close your eyes, breathe it in, and the mind goes directly to sweat and grime, aching hamstrings, weathered gloves clutching a pitchfork handle. Never have minded spreading mulch. Maybe it's the rush I get from pushing the wheelbarrow.
And after all, if you listen carefully in the dark, you can hear the tree frogs. Intoxicating sound. Welcome back, dear ones, you and your symphony of lazy evenings, rocking chairs, and a black sky overflowing with stars. There's nothing like the country, y'all.
I took some close-up, wannabe-artistic pictures of daffodil and forsythia baby buds for effect. And in doing so, without even knowing it, carried on a tradition of pre-spring yellow blossom photos. Apparently it's a lure I just can't resist, vivid life after months of gray.
But besides being so strikingly beautiful against a deep blue sky, those bright little sprouts are a perfect symbol for the newness and rebirth of spring.
How I love a fresh start, and we needed one.
It's a precious season with the boys. There aren't many milestones happening with any frequency. Obviously, anectodes of their sweet and funny antics are in short supply. It feels like all of us are growing up. We converse a lot around the kitchen table about different things. In this, maybe we are understanding each other more deeply, both ways, and I hope that this growing up will mean growing stronger together.
They joke, they plan, they random dance, they explain words and phrases to me that I have never ever heard before. They play trivia challenges with Alexa. They put their dishes in the dishwasher. They handle school morning routines like pros. Well, most of the time.
And they are always up for ball. Our kitchen court seems to get smaller and smaller as they grow, so we are thankful for this place. Maybe I'll never get picked first for a team, but if they'll keep playing with us as the years go by, that's good enough.
We have another game, me and my boys together. They would be mortified if I ever named it in writing, because it's honestly a bit childish. And yes, Trey and Aden are stil children, but they don't think they are. But this game brings us together every time. It's something we all enjoy so much, and has quieted more than a few arguments. Precious season indeed. Please, self, don't forget this.
Whether it's the changing relationship with the boys, getting through the whole surgery debacle, or the household slowly emerging from our plethora of winter sicknesses, spring is just awakening something in me. It's like hope, as if everything seems new again.
I've been walking at work. Nineties playlist in my ears. Giant sky above and skin tingling with the sun's warmth. Pounding feet, and every burst of breeze like a whisper of encouragement from God. I so need to take care of myself, and what a blessing to enjoy a piece of that. The track has made its way onto my list of happy places.
In mid-March fashion, we cheer on our Hoos, gear up for spring workouts and baseball season, and scramble around in Easter drama prep. All the while grateful for another fresh start. Praise the Lord.
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