Yesterday felt like spring. It was warm, it was sunny, it was light jacket/thick vest weather and we were not going to spend one second indoors.
Unfortunately, all of the neighbourhood children seeking a yard, a soccer ball and a pitcher of cold water descended on our swing-set simultaneously in an impromptu playgroup and I wasn’t sure how long the old bird would last.
We watched as trikes raced down our hill between two garden stakes hammered cleverly by a rock and a plastic shovel into some soft patches of grass. We saw how spring inspired two young boys to swing from half-dead branches and become winded after leaping from our plastic garden house and landing on their backs in the marshy wetlands that are our backyard.
I was asked, “Can I have a drink but not in a Barbie cup?” (twice) and “I really like your slide, how much did it cost? Like six thousand?”
One sweaty child even hugged the pitcher of water and said loudly, “Ahhh, so cold.” Paused and made eye contact with me, “So refreshing.”
The kids took inventory and measured the growth of our rhubarb plants and when I didn’t have a clear visual stomped through them to find a rogue tennis ball to pelt at each other.
I was told by one child that their first word when they were a baby was “ball” and then asked, what was your baby’s first word, “cracker?”
They dug up buttercups, smeared them on their chins and said they didn’t like ipads if the stain remained obvious in the sunlight. I thought that was meant to determine if you hated butter. Things really have changed.
They played hide-and-seek with our deck cushions, they skateboarded across our deck, they renovated the fort, played roof-ball, jumped rope (for heart), discussed lemonade stand prices, asked if they could run around without socks, asked if they could run around without shirts (always no), found worms and moved them from one muddy location to another, killed spiders then cried (Ellie) when nature was being destroyed. Their sweat was stinky, their snot has thawed.
Spring has arrived. Finally.