The truth is, I’m done.  Done with white, with ice, with winter.  I’m done walking on treacherous ice, I’m done wincing against a bitter wind, I’m done with looking at field after field of plain old white.

The truth is, my littlest boy is 5 big years old and it just makes me want to grab hold of him and squeeze him close.  At night I kiss his cheeks while he sleeps and I have secret wishes in my heart that he just freeze right now, no more growing please.  I’m so proud (and so very terrified) that this big boy is my baby.

The truth is I find myself avoiding my blog when I feel a bit low, when my inner heart is just hacked off and tired.  I feel guilty that I’m not able to make the super shiny best of every super shiny moment, in fact I feel tired and a bit beaten up by this long, long winter. The words get stuck in my metaphorical writing throat and so I write nothing, my silence feeling brooding and grumpy.  So I write this instead and hope to unstick, like the logs that will hopefully be released by (soon to be) melting ice.

The truth is I long for green, with aching desperation and painful sad wishing.  I long for sunshine, grass and spring flowers.  I envy my friends and family in England right now who are looking at buds and mottled colours everywhere.  We are so far from that here, or so it feels.  Still encased in ice and snow everywhere I look.

The truth is I know the shift has happened, I know the lighter nights and slightly warmer days are signs of spring to come.  I know but don’t believe.   I look outside expecting song birds and yellow light but instead see monochrome.

The truth is I’m tired of waiting, my patience has run out.  So I won’t wait anymore.  Spring starts here, whether she’s ready for me or not.  We are painting in green and yellow, making equinox crafts, going out without hats (even when it hurts), starting seeds under lights and planning for the many baby animals that will be joining us soon.  Fake it till you make it people, it’s spring time ready or not.