Assorted things

So we've had a very busy week, but made a few observations, in no particular order: spring is flirting with us, promising all kinds of delightful things later on, but then disappearing behind 20 degree weather. There are some sweet little pussywillows growing in the planter right where you turn to make your order at the drive-through Starbucks. Being on the list of two separate donation-seeking veterans' organizations has its advantages, namely the multiple opportunities to declutter in any given month.

Peter swears he is allergic to confetti. (He says it makes him sneeze.) He claims also to be allergic to fire (damned good thing) and to bubbles, and constructed a rather elaborate scenario in which these three allergens collide. Grace has mastered the art of the knock-knock joke, although most of them tend to be somewhat low-impact, humor-wise. They persist in riding their bikes in all kinds of cold weather, and I've finally trained them to park their bikes in the garage, rather than in the driveway behind the car.

Our fabulous friend Dorothy is so big and expert and grown-up that she hardly seems like the baby we once knew. She and Peter have what we might politely describe as a love-hate relationship, or maybe a love-from-afar relationship. She and Grace adore each other in the way of seven-year-old girls brimming with administrative skill too often rebuffed by their younger brothers and nearly-twos delighted to be taken notice of and cherished.

At long last, it occurred to me that one way to avoid the Endless Mitten Quest which seems to delay so many of our exits from home would be to stash a pair of mittens *in my purse.* This is genius! But it will probably only come into play a few times this season, and I'll forget by next fall. Naturally, another way to avoid the EMQ would be to have an ironclad Place For Mittens (other than on the hands, of course) but that seems out of my grasp at this point.

So hope along with us for spring. We need it. We need our outdoor time unhindered by freezing rain, and wind, and snow, and ice, and general below-zero nastiness. Big ones and little ones need to run. There's a dissertation that's 265 pages, or so, not that anybody's obsessively counting or anything. There are fresh big-boy bikes to be chosen and broken in, there are spring plantings to be plotted, there are herbs to be grown in the security of one's own kitchen until Mother's Day when they can be planted outside. I'm thinking of more and better bee balm, and window boxes carefully filled with plants that will work through as much of the summer as possible (coleus!) A third dance recital is coming up, which is unbelievable, even when you drag out the photos from the first two and notice that the girl is taller and longer-limbed and has lost some teeth and really learned to tap dance. Damn, it really is almost spring.