This March, like every other March I suppose, I’m skeptical that Spring will make good on its promise to arrive. In fact, Spring seems to be turning into a bit of a diva, like a teenager who will only make an appearance when they’re fashionably late. Spring has taunted us with flashes of green grass and Robin Red Breasts. But just when we’re putting the boots away… “Just kidding!” Spring pelts us with snow like a pie in the face before dashing off again.
Ah, Spring. You little tease.
If you are blessed to live in the southern part of Wisconsin or in another state altogether, (you lucky, lucky, bird) you won’t fully understand this blog. You might tell me to buck up. Quit my whining. But I can tell by the snow-encrusted driveways and sidewalks I pass along my hometown streets that I’m not alone in my grumblings. We’ve just plain given up on shoveling. You can come to my house for a visit but from here on out, it’s at your own risk. Maybe bring some salt.
To add insult to injury, my daughter’s favorite past time of late is making ice. Lots of it. My refrigerator is lined with various sizes of cups of ice. As if there’s not enough outside. Of course just last week as she and her brother were home for “Spring Break”, (hilarious) she turned to me, adamantly and said, “You said we could get ice cream at Belts on Spring break.”
“No,” I corrected her. “I said we could go to Belts when it’s Spring, once the snow melts.”
She looked out the window in despair. I promised her we’d go in June. Or July at the very latest, but that we’d just have to wait. This made her angry. I told her I was sorry and asked her if she wanted to make more ice.
I’m not so good at this waiting thing either.
And yet waiting seems to make up such a big chunk of life. Seems like I’m always waiting for something, for the toast to pop or the light to change. And those are the small things. I’ve waited for big things too like waiting to finish high school, waiting to finish college, waiting to get married, to get pregnant, waiting to have the baby, for the baby to be potty trained…. You get the picture. It never ends.
There have been times when I’m simply in the moment, not trying to peek around the corner. I’m not waiting when I’m…
Screaming on a rollercoaster
holding a sleeping baby
utterly engrossed in a good book/movie
eating something overwhelmingly good
deep in conversation
I know Spring will come. It came last year, and the year before that and the year before that. So I’m not hopelessly waiting, I’m waiting with hope.
With my flip-flops on.