Winter Weary

It's spring.  You wouldn't know it by walking outside.  Last night icy rain fell in sheets over the still frozen ground.  The boy cut the grass on Tuesday.  It wasn't really that long and had only started to come up in patches of mostly clover.  I think he just needed to do something that made him feel like it was warm outside.  The little one was grateful all the same.  Her soccer ball glides smoother through her homemade goal, now that the grass is level.  It also helped us find the remaining Easter eggs.  Analiese came to the door with three yesterday. A pink one with yellow dots, a blue one with black zebra print, and a metallic purple one.  How had we missed those?  I think we hid too many.  Even now staring out into the rain soaked backyard I think I see a pastel pink one in the crook of the old tree that's starting to blossom.  I know by the little green buds that's it's here; it just doesn't feel like it.  I even picked daffodils on Wednesday.  It's really a foolish flower to pop up in the frost. I put them in a jar by the window.  A little sun to kill the drafts.  I think it helped a little.  We're all chilled, winter weary, and in desperate need of an outdoor meal on the weathered old picnic table that bows in the middle, making the plates wobble when you pick up a bite of potato salad.  It's supposed to warm up next week.    That will be nice.  The boy needs to wade in the creek and find snakes.  And the middle child needs to work her fairy magic, building rainbows, planting flowers.  I need to read outside.  I've worn holes in all of the seats from too much reading indoors.  Only the little one won't notice much of a change.  She doesn't feel cold.  She's an island of her own personal sun.  Thirty degrees or seventy degrees.  It's all the same to her.  Her toys ride nicely in her bike basket either way.