Monday, March 7, 2016

Frenzied

We heard the first cardinal song this week. We followed the sound with our eyes, looking up to see a spec of bright red, high up on the leafless tree branches next door. The next day, we heard another. I've seen squirrels begin to gather nest-making materials (we left him a little dryer lint to get started). Instead of furious winter winds, I hear the drip-drip-drip of snow melting off the roof. Some afternoons are warm enough I can open the window a crack, just enough to smell fresh air and cool whatever baking has just come out of the oven.


And while I start outfitting the girls in longer pants and bigger shoe sizes to accommodate growth spurts, I still dress them in snow pants to go outside. Spring is coming in slowly (tortuously slow, at times) but is not to be rushed, it seems. We built a snowman yesterday, because rain-melted snow plus a few colder hours makes for primo snowman-making snow. 

I have run out of the fresh fruits and vegetables I froze or preserved last year, and the grocery store's offerings are largely from South America, or further. I am getting out to run more, now that the temperatures are milder, but the puddles from melting snowbanks are more like frigid swimming holes for my feet. This back-and-forth "is it spring yet?" dance makes me a little frenzied. 

Icicle hanging from the roof outside our kitchen window
Seasonally, this almost-springtime is my least favourite. Everything outside is wet and cold, so committing to a walk, hike or playtime means running all the outdoor stuff through the dryer or hanging it by the fireplace for hours before we need it again. The dog needs walking, but comes home soaked and muddy. The riverfront trails are still snowed-over and sinky. We've exhausted many of my favourite hibernating pastimes like making stew, building forts, watching movies (so many movies!) and reading by the fire. To avoid being a total bummer to be around, I try to get creative with new activities, or at the very least finding silver linings in our days, moment by moment.

Miss Thang Robin enjoys breakfast
The inherent lesson of seasons is that they are fleeting. The almost-spring yuckiness fades gradually into budding trees and green front lawns. We will eventually return snowsuits to basement storage and say goodbye to toques for awhile. I know this. So, rather than wish this season away or grumble about it, I am learning to sit with it. I am learning this with lots of things, really: sitting with a tantrumming two-year-old, sitting with discomfort, sitting with exasperation and watching it before it passes, without reacting to it. Because I know it will pass. Everything does.


Speaking of time passing way too quickly, Hailey and Robin are on their victory lap of time home with mama. This fall, they will begin full-day kindergarten, so this is our last almost-spring season home together. Our last March. This is really motivating me not to wish the days away, but to try and find ways to keep connecting with them (and nestle my way into their strong twin bond) before I see them after school and on weekends only. They were and are my miracle babies. And when they throw every four-year-old trick in the book at me (the sass! disobedience! defiance! angry screaming!) I try to remember that this, too shall pass, and then what? Each day home with them is a building block in a larger structure of their moral, developmental and intellectual growth. I wanted them so bad, and here they are, and there's only a little time left before they are in school with their big sister.



1 comment:

  1. Oh my goodness. The picture of Sum-Sum and Skylar... melt my heart.
    And them with the icicle. Robin looks like Abby! How time flies!
    xox

    ReplyDelete

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