fifty shades of spring

A small space has its drawbacks, but our house seems to create an environment that necessitates cooperation.  Our confines can also force a claustrophobic feeling though, kind of like we're stuck in a box with these two in the winter.  I know I can't rush the seasons, the same way I can't rush the sunrise or the boys in the morning.  Wishing harder and yelling louder don't make it happen any faster, and definitely make it all feel much worse.

But spring seems to be breaking here finally, and we've been able to spend so much more time outside.  It's like living art out there right now, more bright and more beautiful, different every day.  We watch the weather patterns and the helicopters, the bugs and the construction workers, all the movement and color make the best kind of museum.  We notice the way green arms reach toward the sun where yesterday there was just dirt.  We collect snakes in jars and start seeds in egg cartons.  We stay out until we see the red stretch in the western sky, the sun surrendering to the moon, the gallery lights dimming.

I pushed an empty stroller on a recent walk through the neighborhood, cup holders filled to capacity with grape hyacinth heads, yellow dandelion tops, pink tulip petals, fifty shades of spring.  This is what we've been waiting for, like we held our breath all winter and can finally exhale.  While the boys collected bits that go unseen by the busy world, I tried to come to terms with the fact that when we went inside their wet socks would leave a double trail of footprints all the way to the tub.  They'd each captured record-breakingly large worms and my pockets were heavy with even more special treasures.  Except it was like the opposite of heavy, all the things they found and piled onto my palms and shoved into my pants, each small evidence of spring, felt more like light and hope than anything.

Later, clean and cuddly, I laid them down for bed.  I kissed their cheeks and wished I could pull the stars through their windows, wished I could put the moon under their pillows while they slept.  I think I'll always want to give them the world the way they give it to me.