Spring Treasures

“It always amazes me to look at the little, wrinkled brown seeds and think of the rainbows in ’em,” said Captain Jim. “When I ponder on them seeds I don’t find it nowise hard to believe that we’ve got souls that’ll live in other worlds. You couldn’t hardly believe there was life in them tiny things, some no bigger than grains of dust, let alone colour and scent, if you hadn’t seen the miracle, could you?” 
 L.M. Montgomery, Anne’s House of Dreams

These days are 80 degrees.

The toddler tap dances in puddles and we water snapdragons and pansies with the pig watering can. We throw snails into the street. We smell tomato plants and cucumbers. We read in the afternoon, out on the porch. No matter how long the book is the dog is always longer, stretched out on the futon next to me, snoring while three children lay on her like puppies.

We pull weeds, we drink ice water. We go to the park and visit the geese. We laugh at the word “gaggle”.  Our hands smell like manure and hope. We can’t see the sunflowers yet but we water the dirt with great expectations. All this is done with the sun drenching everything in the gentle way of Spring, like a friend, a golden blessing. We soak in it while the black ants crawl along the fence pails.

I watch the toddler wander through the yard, pointing out flowers and peddling his tricycle backwards, as they all did before him. His hat is crooked over his eyes. He’s charming when he’s dirty.

And after dinner I took Shel to the drug store to fill ice cream orders. He wore Scooby Doo boxers and a Star Wars tank top, stylish as usual in Spiderman flip flops. He chose animal cookie ice cream in a cone and by the time we drove home with three other flavors there was ice cream in my hair and on my shoes. The boys ate it on the play set and when they were done, they had dirt moustaches and sticky hands.

They shot aliens in the sunset, and I was the king of all Aliens, and my name was Gaseous (!).

Tonight the bathwater turned murky green.

I’ve just finished reading two rounds of Goodnight Moon, one Mr. Brown Can Moo and the perennial favorite, Green Eggs And Ham. When everyone was tucked in tight and had the maximum allotment of five toys in their bed, I snuggled next to Q and said, “Tell me you secrets.”

He laughed, “I don’t have any secrets! I’m not a spy! I’m not a super spy! I’m not a super boat! I’m not a super tie! I’m not a super necktie! I’m not a spy guy! I’m not a button! I’m not a nose!”

I sort of regretted the question.

So I ended the day with 5 year old poetry. I’ll take some Nyquil now to counter the cough of doom I have from the never ending cold of 2013. These are golden days, and I’ll go to bed thankful.

7 thoughts on “Spring Treasures

  1. You truly are the most engaging writer. I mean that, JoAnn. Write a book! Our family has adopted some of your kids' clever phrases. Mike works at a very stressful job in a financial institution. He told me he sometimes gets through the day by turning people into cheese with his “cheese ray”. What the What?!


  2. oh, love. your days are treasure-filled indeed, and lucky us that you have just the words to share them.

    ps we too have a maximum toy allotment per bed, but still my daughter tries to cram all her friends in to the point where it's hard to decipher the kid in the middle of the party. her defense: 'but it's fun in here!' oy.


  3. Hello! I could have sworn I've been to this site before but after looking at many of the articles I realized it's new to
    me. Anyways, I'm certainly pleased I stumbled upon it and I'll be book-marking it and checking back regularly!

    my web site – Funny Videos


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s