The grass may still be brown and crunchy, but those first sentries of spring, the daffodils under my dogwood tree, came marching out this weekend. It called for celebration. We moved the family into the seasonal bonus room for the weekend - the front porch. We cooked on the grill. We filled up the water table. We had a picnic. We released a big sigh of relief - for warmer weather, for relaxing in a rocking chair, for a radio playing in the background, for more space and less mess in the house, for grilled zucchini. The window is open, the attic fan is on, and I broke out the shorts and flip-flops. Only Daylight Savings Time could make it better.
Ella celebrated by getting as dirty as she could possibly manage. There were dirt angels, mud pies, and a layer of silt in the bottom of the bathtub. Nothing says it's been a fun day like a filthy child.
Even Luke was more at peace on the front porch in the Excersaucer. He has taken up Ella's old job of cheering for Georgia while she plays ball and trying to grab the cat's tail when she gets too close. He got it, too. He felt the grass on his toes and would have loved to have rolled all over the yard if I had put him down, but I wasn't ready to start digging grass out of his mouth yet.
It was a great weekend. It was much needed, and it was right on time. God always knows when I'm about to fall over the edge, and, quite literally, sends me a breath of fresh air.
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