Spring Scares Me

I am a big fan of ALL of the seasons, especially at the time they are changing, but I have very fond memories of Spring. There is something about the smell of wet earth, specifically that which wakes up under a playground, that jettisons me back to the sheer joy of Spring recesses at my elementary school. The buds in my midst, the thought of summer around the corner and the combination of the sun's warm rays and the cool spring wind invigorated every cell in my body... and then there came Caleb.

These days, Spring holds an entirely new meaning. One that reminds me
that the neighbor's yard has not been mined for dog droppings in something close to six months. One that sparks reluctance in my heart at our approach of a puddle and true fear at our proximity to mud holes. One that cements defeat into my mothering soul because I STILL can't get him to wear gloves, especially now while the rest of his body is warm from the mild weather. However, I'm quite sure that his wee little hands are more prone to getting frostbite as he digs in diminishing snow piles and waves his wet hands in the cool spring wind.

We do what we can. We wear hats (when I win the battle), layered clothing and "splash" boots when we remember. And when we forget, well, we get mud-stained, wet pants and sopping socks (see picture below).

I'm somewhat nauseated to feel such angst-filled emotions at a time that is usually so bright and hopeful. I battle daily with she-who-wants-to-make-things-easier, she who weighs a walk outside with a count of expected loads of wash, she who is not in the MOOD to give another bath in one day. I am fighting to let the innate explorer explore by hampering my "NO's" and even, gasp, encourage a good jump in a puddle. But, I wonder, at this point, if the fear of the nasty dirty frostbitten possibilities of Springs muddled with the fear of being an overprotective smothering mother will ever migrate back to sheer Spring joy.