Spring has officially arrived on the first day that I wear short sleeves outside. That day was yesterday, and I don’t care if it is going to be -5 this weekend. The laundry is hanging up outside, and spring is here.
In celebration, the Beard shaved. Now I am perplexed. Do I start calling him the Chin?
Everyone is sick, has been sick, or is about to get sick. Maybe spring will cure us all. (The sunshine is at least sure to do our collective mental state some good.) The Beard was sick one week. I was sick the next week. Pickles was sick the week after that. When Pickles is sick we don’t sleep, this time for two nights in a row. The two nights following were consolation prizes at best. Then both the Beard and I got sick again. Today is the first day in a long time that I have felt vaguely good. I’ll take it.
With Pickles walking and the sun shining, we have taken to spending hours toodling around outside. She rubs her hands into the mole hill and rips apart flowers. She takes off down the path without a single glance back to see if I am following (I’m not). Eventually she turns back. She is not yet willing to let me disappear entirely. On days like these, I am enamoured with the way we live.