Spring, stay awhile.

The other day my son Jacob was carrying in grocery bags with me. With two foot of snow still on the ground, we juggled the bags and skated on the pact down paths. “Smell that Mom?” He questioned. “What?” I said. “Fishing!” He smiled at me. “Yes Jacob I do. Though to me it smells more like gardening.” Knocking on the sliding glass door with the tip of my boot, I could feel the bags slipping from my grip. “Hurry!” I belted out loud enough for one of the other two kids to come to our rescue. Jeffrey my oldest slid the glass open and unloaded my hands that were now beautiful shades of purple and red. I always attempted to bring in an incredible amount of bags at a time limiting the amount of trips I had to take. Though it was literally insane to do.

As the 45 degree air smacked Jeffrey in the face he grinned. “Mom did you get my baseball pants yet?” “Not yet Jeff, I haven't even thought about it. When does it start?” I tried not to sound as frustrated as I was for forgetting them. “Soon, can’t you smell it?” “What?! Jake just said it smelt like fishing! That's too funny.” I Squeeze through the door and slid off my boots. “What's funny mom?” My daughter came dancing over grabbing up the bags of food and sorting them through. “Your boys just said spring smells like fishing and baseball. I think it smells like gardening. What does it smell like to you?” I asked her. “Easter!” She blurted out without a second thought. “I don't know how we are going to have an Easter egg hunt though, if some of the snow doesn't melt.” She added with a concerned look appearing on her face. “Good question! I wouldn't worry, we'll figure it out.” We finished the rest of the trips to the truck and the children ran off to do what they do.

Later that evening my husband came home. Wet, muddy and cold. Putting on some hot tea for him, I flooded him with my usual commentary as he peeled off his Lacrosse boots and Carhartts. “It was beautiful today! I went shopping and oh yeah, don't let me forget to get Jeff’s baseball pants. Can you believe it's almost time for baseball? Kayla reminded me, we have to call my mom and finalize our plans for Easter. Jake –“ He suddenly cut me off. “Babe! Stop, you gotta wait. I'm cold, wet and muddy. The days are getting longer and everything is mud. Everywhere I went today was a trial not to get stuck. Even with the track machine. I'm going to take a hot shower.” He turned and headed towards the bathroom. “I really can't wait for this time of year to pass. It smells terrible. The only thing good about spring is turkey season.” He mumbled to himself as he made his way down the hall.

As miserable as he was I couldn't help but grin. The many smells of change. I’d never really thought about it like that. Each of us relate to the melting snow so differently. I buy seeds and soil to start my plants for the garden, so that we have a bountiful year. Jacob can't wait to toss a ball into the crisp pond and study his bobber. Jeffrey has the excitement of grand slams and competition coursing through his veins. My daughter anticipates family and eggs colored all different colors of the rainbow, littered across the yard. With all this happiness, my hard working husband can't wait for lightning bugs and summer heat, and I don't blame him, after all he works outside.  

I know that it seems like it’s been one of the longest, harshest winters, but as far as I am concerned, it can take its time. It comes and goes so fast sometimes I swear that I’m beginning to loose time. It’s like, one day I hear the peepers chirping hello to spring and the next day the locusts are screaming their summer goodbyes. “So welcome back Spring, plant your flowers, get some hot tea, sit with me, lets watch your colors bloom, and please, stay a while.”

Orange Juice

    I wrote this while having a conversation with my children at breakfast. Sometimes our children are the best story tellers...

One day in a small blue house on a small gray road, lived a boy and his parents.  They had a dog and a cat and a swimming pool too.

The boy asked his mother, “Can I have an orange?”

“Yes, my child.” she said with a smile.

He peeled and peeled till the orange was ready. The boy asked, “Can I make juice?”

“Sure.” said his mother smiling once again. She got him a pitcher and a bowl and told him to squeeze. His little hand clutched tightly around the orange the juice dripped down and around his fingers into the bowl. 

Then the boy asked his mother,

“What if I had a thousand oranges all peeled in a swimming pool, and I was barefoot and I jumped in and squished them all and then it was a big pool of orange juice that I could swim in every day?”

“Well my son I guess you’d have to have a really long straw to drink out of then.“ The mother replied.

“So what if I got a hundred chickens that laid eggs every day and I would make breakfast for everyone in the world every Sunday?” The boy said.

“Well you would certainly have enough orange juice for all of them to drink.” The mother added.

“Yeah, but then where would I swim?” The boy asked.

“Swim? Silly boy where would you keep all your chickens?

“In daddy’s garage” The boy said.

“In the garage? Where would Daddy park the trucks?” The mother asked.

“I don’t know, in the yard.” The boy looked confused.

“So where would all the people wait for the breakfast?” The mother asked her son.

“They would line up all down the street and you can bring them out there food to the pool where they would be eating. They would all have big long straws to drink up the juice and it wouldn’t cost them any money so they will come back every week.”

“Oh I see.” His mother said trying not to chuckle.

The mother and son were on their forth orange and the bottom of the pitcher was barely full. The boy was very tired of squeezing the oranges.

He said to his mother with disappointment, “Mother, I don’t want to squeeze any more oranges for this juice. I guess the pool isn’t going to work and the chickens will probably have to eat a lot too, and if the trucks were in the yard where would I play? This was a bad Idea mother.”

“You are probably right about the pool, the chickens and the yard but it’s always fun to imagine things isn’t it?” The mother said to the boy.

“Yes mother, but it’s hard to make orange juice.”

“Yup it sure is.” Said his mother.