Spring has sprung. In my part of the globe this means that daylight hours are getting longer, crocus flowers are popping up, and we have all replaced our winter boots with rain boots. I know I am supposed to love spring, the season of hope and renewal and all… yada yada yada… But truthfully, I am not a fan. There are many reasons why I have developed a distaste for spring:
- The spring sun is a critical judge.
The house that seemed perfectly okay all winter is suddenly filthy. EVERYTHING is covered in dust, the windows are disgusting, and all the furniture seems old and tired. Is it me, or is the spring sun somehow actually bringing the dust bunnies to life!?!
- My forgiving winter wardrobe will soon be banished to the attic.
Sweaters are so forgiving. From mid-September to mid-April the entire middle of my body has been lovingly protected by layers of cotton and wool, but soon… very, very soon… I will have to put away my ever-so-kind winter clothing and bring out the shorts, and the tank tops, and the dreaded bathing suits. The very thought darkens my soul.
- I must begin the ritual of “getting in shape”.
I have been “getting in shape” since the birth of my first child, who is now in her early twenties. While birth is a ‘miracle’ there is nothing miraculous about the transition from round-bellied fertility goddess back into regular form. It is hard and it involves a lot of physical activity, a lot of salad, and a sadly small amount of everything else.
If “getting in shape” is hard, “staying in shape” is damn near impossible, unless you want to live a life devoid of cheese, chocolate, and wine. And I ask myself… would this be a life worth living?!?
So in winter I indulge. But in spring I must stop. I must dig the sports bras out of the bottom drawer of my dresser and begin pretending that running is more fun that not running, that kale is tastier than pasta salad, and that green protein drinks do not taste like ass. Sigh.
- Schools start having ‘fun’ days.
Somewhere in the universe I am sure there is a pod of super crafty, ultra-upbeat moms who can’t imagine anything more delightful than chaperoning a zillion field trips and baking weekly batches of sugar-free, peanut-free, gluten-free cupcakes. For the rest of us this is a nightmare that repeats itself every spring, when teachers seem to lose their sanity and attempt to make every week into a fun-filled, theme-based extravaganza. Secretly, I think it is a plot to escape the classroom so they don’t have to look at the dust, the dirty windows, and the crappy old desks, all magnified by the glow of that damn spring sun.
- I start believing that I have a green thumb.
It’s the damn crocuses. They pop up all over the neighbourhood, reminding me that I should have planted bulbs last fall. And then I get to thinking that this year will be the year. I will build raised wooden planters and fill them with a variety of perennials (which will be interesting to watch, given that my only tools are a hammer, a multi-head screw driver and a collection of those weird bendy things you put IKEA furniture together with). I will ‘thatch’ my lawn (despite not really knowing what ‘thatch’ means). I will grow my own vegetables (this fantasy usually ends with half a dozen moldy green tomatoes and a pot full of peppermint … because peppermint is actually a weed and it eats up all the other herbs … but I forget that every spring).
Spring is not my friend. That said, I already have my sports bra on and as soon as I finished this post I will commence the ‘getting in shape’ ritual. Sigh.