Spring hours

During the winter months I have what I like to call “the fab four”. This moniker refers to the hours between the time my kids go to bed and the time I go to bed. The winter sun falls early from the sky and consequently we eat early, bathe early and bed early in little people land; then in big people land there exists a chunk of time worthy of the title “a quiet evening”. It is time spent in ordering the day ending and planning the day to come, taking a half hour to read something splendid and then settling in to good conversation with the hubby. It is four hours of lovely.

 

And then came the time change.

Don’t get me wrong, I love long days and the feeling of summer in the fresh spring air but I have to admit I have the time change blues. I gave it my best shot to keep the kids going to bed early but what with the jay birds singing and the light glimpsing through the curtains, I just ended up with more needs: water, toilet, food etc. So I succumbed to an hour later bedtime and am taking my lumps.

 

This is part of the reason I have been hard pressed for inspiration lately I fear. After I clean up the kitchen, put a load in the wash, organize school for the morrow and practice a tad on the violin, I am fresh out of creativity. Then there’s the moment when husband, who was trying to work which must be his defense, asked if it was about time for me to take a break in my practice. I said “of course” but I have to admit I had an adult moment of feeling like I wanted to cry (really! That instrument is driving me nuts….and my husband too, apparently).

 

It was, overall, a great first day of spring. We planted watermelon seeds in egg cartons and purchased eight packs of different vegetable seeds for planting as soon as daddy tills the soil. Mason was under the misconception that we were going to eat the seeds; he got over his disappointment. We made peach crisp and ate it. We saw a giant stink bug.

 

So I'll try to do my crazy dancing while I scrub the counters and drink my apple cider vinegar tea while I screech on my instrument. I can still get "the fab three" in while the house is still.

In my whirlwind mothering I might just go in public with yogurt dried all over my left thigh or find a matchbox car stuck in between the girls (apparently the little guy deftly planted it while I thought he was just groping around for a meal) and this is just the beginning of the good times to come.

 

 Regardless of my slow adjustment process, "spring, I welcome you. The long days and sunshine are making this little guy very happy."