I love spring

Yeah. It’s a sappy title, I know. I can’t think of anything better.

But I really love spring. It’s my favorite season of all, particularly late spring, when the leaves on the trees emerge, and the days start hitting 80, 85 degrees. This week, I’ll have to go through our clothes and pack the sweaters and the turtlenecks away. Bring on the shorts! Bring on the tank tops! My hubby really seems to like it, for some reason…

Outside, there’s a tree that spans across the three windows in our bedroom. When the wind blows, the leaves rustle and rush. It’s akin to the sound of waves crashing on a seashore; it turns our bedroom into an inland (h)arbor. I don’t need to use the sound machine to lull me to sleep at night anymore.

My son is downstairs talking to his grandfather. Soon, he (the grandfather) will be flying off again, heading to a new life in the Philippines. His wife has gone back to their home to sell their house, then return to ours for a couple more weeks before going out to join him. They plan to use our house as base camp whenever they return to the states. I like the thought of it, our house as a standing stone, a haven to return to after being out in the field. Now, if only I can keep it clean enough so that it is the ideal meeting place.

But I’m a writer, which means when the bug bites, laundry sits piled in my bedroom. Toys are scattered in the living room. Dishes pile in the sink. My son runs around, naked.

Well, okay, he does that anyway, regardless if I’m writing or not. But today is a treat. I’m letting him wear underpants instead of diapers.

I can hear the birds chirping outside. The wind billows through my curtains, making them puff out. Downstairs, PopPop goes, “You gotta go potty? Go potty!” Daniel runs upstairs and plops his little hiney on the potty. With the underpants on, of course.

The air is warm with a hint of green. By the door, my laundry glares at me from their baskets.