Season of My Soul

We shed our coats.

Traded our mittens for water bottles.

And hit the road in the stroller.

Walking to pick the big kids up from school, we watched a sunshiny 64 degree day melt the last of the dirty snow.  In the midst of soaking up much-needed vitamin D, my five-year old blurted out, "Awwww, maaaannnn.  The snow is leaving us."

To which I replied, "Good riddance."

Not skipping a beat, Claire said, "Snow is awesome!  I like building snowmen and sledding and having hot cocoa and eating ice cycles. It's sad to see it go."

"That's because you were born in the wintertime.  We're all secretly in love with the season of our birthday, " I retorted.

"What season are you, mama?"

"I'm springtime.  I love tulips and green patches emerging from the ground.  Warm rain jumping in puddles makes me happy. I live for the sunshine and the blue sky and laying in the grass reading a book.   My favorite is when it's cool in the early morning and mild during the day...oh and sleeping with the windows open at night...that's the best.  Mostly, I just love that everything is coming back to life again.  I guess, its the season of my soul."

"Well, my season is beating your season, because I still see snow.  It's winter.  I don't think spring is here yet."

"You're probably right.  But maybe, just for today, we can pretend?" I smiled.

“When spring came, even the false spring, there were no problems except where to be happiest."
Ernest Hemingway