The Ice, Man, Melteth!

At the store were free samples of honeydew, cantaloupe, oranges. I bought the first strawberries of the season. I could have cried with happiness.

The park was overrun, but it was ok. Everyone was happy. The parents weren't cranky and the children didn't fight. We shed layer after layer of clothing. Jackets, sweatshirts, socks. A woman who could only be described as hyper had a Weimeraner puppy on a leash, and I even chatted with her for a few minutes, Indy petting the soft gray fellow, before edging away.

Some people are drawn to these loud ladies who don't stop talking. But I am frightened of them. They might tell me too much. They might ask personal questions. They might never let me go.

A dad pushed twelve giggling kids who weren't even his over and over on the tire swing.

The good mothers had all brought picnics. The mothers next to me were so good that they mentioned their "peanut butter and vanilla bean honey" sandwiches at least seven times. They also made a show of serving 'dad's yogurt'. Your dad makes yogurt?

Yeah, well. Real dads brew beer.

Did I mention the sky was blue and it was the first warm day of the year? The first warm day of the year, the one that makes you feel you have survived something. You have overcome. Everyone's hair glows flower colored in the new warm light. These were not girls and boys, running pale legged in the sun. These were tulips, crocuses, daffodils. Sure, some of them might actually be weeds, and some of them surely have thorns, but you couldn't tell, this day. Or it didn't matter.

On the drive home, Ayla began to fail. She is so unfairly hot-blooded. "Mom," she moaned. "It's so hot, it's just so so hot. I am melting in my boots. We should have brought some ICE to put down my BACK."

We took an impromptu picnic of Chick-fil-a back to the park. Ayla was too hot and tired to go on.

In college, spring means break and bikinis and fruity drinks. But in motherhood, spring means tired children. There is absolutely no contest as to which is better.

This morning, Ayla has been on me to hard boil eggs. Even though she knows it's not Easter yet, she says, she just wants to pretend. I was making breakfast. She grew tired of waiting for the hard boiled eggs.

"Never mind," she said. "I'm going to go be a chicken."

She nestled into the carpet, clucking and flapping her skinny elbow wings.

Welcome, birdies. Welcome, flowers. Welcome, strawberries. Welcome, sunshine.

The earth says hello.