After being in a funk for a while, I was prepared for a rough Mother’s Day. I’ll be honest. Soren was kind of a bear on Saturday. His very tactful soccer coach, after a practice fraught with screaming and crying, accurately described him as follows: “You remind me of some of the European players. Temperamental but pretty good.” Temperamental, indeed, but let’s not forget that he probably learned it from watching me.
The good news is that Mother’s Day was glorious, aside from the minor problem of my MacBook dying. (Ben says it’s just the hard drive, which of course is a simple fix as soon as the new one arrives.) In the afternoon, we made our annual trek to Al’s Pine Garden and Nursery for Mother’s Day flowers, which for us are the kind you plant.
Here’s what I’d been awaiting for what seemed like forever: The kind of day where you can wear a tank top, shorts, and Birkenstocks outside without even thinking about being cold. Dirt under your fingernails, a beer in the shade, chickens going absolutely crazy for worms and ants in the yard. Reggae and a guy who gives you a calendula plant but calls it “Caligula.” A 3-year-old entrusted with watering the vegetables who turns the hose on himself, which is pretty much the best, most hilarious thing, ever. (If it’s warm out and you ever have one of those days where you don’t know what to do with your kid, give him a hose.) A husband who has the chicken coop almost ready for the ladies to move in. A pitcher who throws a one-hit complete game.
It feels like summer, and I’m pretty sure it’s safe to say it won’t snow next week. Finally and gloriously.