March Roars

March Roars

March is roaring, winds howling. But it’s warm enough today that the children went outside in their shirt sleeves after Mass this morning. The snow is disappearing quickly. Going, going… almost gone. Most of the yard has been revealed in its muddy green-brown messyness. The children scamper about like crazy squirrels rediscovering toys and places not seen since Christmas. Oh the joy!

Ben makes a beeline for his car. Does a full check, making sure everything works, is still there. Then he climbs inside. Oh car, how I’ve missed you!

Bella runs and twirls and dances. At one point she leans into the wind, hands folded, praying.

Sophie lags behind, taking off her fancy church dress and putting on a shirt, jumper dress, pants, socks and boots. A long process and by the end she’s in a panic over the boots. The others are outside and she can’t bear the tension as she watches them running about.

Everyone else has been posting photos of crocuses. So I decided to go investigate our front beds. I found a bunch of green shoots. And one little bud, not yet open; but a flower nonetheless. The first flower of spring.

They don’t stay outside long; but oh what a joy it is to have been out at all. Ben gravitates toward the snow banks. He falls and falls and falls and his khaki pants are caked in mud. The children track mud into the dining room. Ben kicks a streak of mud onto my tan skirt.

My poor rosebush, flattened by the mountain of snow.

They dig into their pancakes, appetites roused to greatness by their exertions. Then time for nap. Ben falls asleep before I’m done with the nursery rhyme book. Sound asleep, head cradled on my shoulder. He seems so enormous now compared to his baby brother. A big boy, almost as big as his sister who just turned three. Maybe an inch shorter and maybe a couple of pounds lighter.

You did want a baby picture, right?

Or two even? Of course you did! Who could resist those cheeks?

Join the discussion

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.