Spring has sprung here in Louisville. A week or so ago, I had hosta tips and unfurled fern fronds in my front yard, and I knew my shade garden was about to wake up and take on its summer form. Then we got sleet on Wednesday, I watched and worried as the tree workers’ hands grew stiff from the cold, and it seemed as though true spring—the spring that lets you leave the house without a coat—would never arrive.
And then suddenly, over the course of a single day, it did. I awoke Friday to unfurled ferns, new leaves on late-leafing trees, temperatures in the eighties, and blue sunny skies. It’s been warm enough to wear shorts, warm enough to sleep under nothing but a sheet, and sunny enough to require sunscreen and a hat.
All of which is new to Simon. Or, I should say, all of which Simon thinks is new to him. Friday morning, as I dressed him in shorts and a tee, he looked down, realized that his pants legs did not reach his shoes, and cried. Literally. He yanked at his shorts legs, willing them to be longer, and plaintively explained that “pants broken.”
That first warm night, as we put him down to bed, he realized that we had not put him in his sleep sack, and he was upset about that change in routine, too. We compromised by putting him down under the Aunt Marcia blanket, in hopes that he’d be comforted by its familiarity but manage to kick it off during the night.
And, of course, when you combine shorts and running, the inevitable result is a skinned knee. Or, in Simon’s case, two skinned knees. And when you combine Simon and sunscreen, you get a lot of slapping away of hands, ducking, squirming, and fussing.
None of which is to say that we are ready for more winter! We’re not. The tragedy of the broken pants lasted only one day, the sleep sack is no longer being mourned, the knees will heal, and we’ll work on getting the sunscreen and sunglasses down soon. I might even manage to buy Simon a few more pairs of summer PJs, as I was embarrassed to have been caught this week with only one pair, purchased by Evie at a yard sale last summer.
For all of the undesirable change in routine, Simon is discovering that warm weather means we can get out of the house fast, and we can do it often. After three weeks of somewhat tolerable weather and one week of glorious weather, Simon now can tell us about the dog park, the creek park, the river park, and the park with the big tunnel. (That would be the former dog hill, Big Rock, Waterfront Park, and Hogan’s Fountain to you fellow Louisvillians.) We also go to Willow Park, and once his fixation with standing under a tagged bridge fades, we’ll resume our trips to Tyler Park.
Warm weather also means playing ball outside, getting in his sand-box, running in and out of his play house, and running around the block at Bubbie’s. It means pretty flowers (his words, by the way), new white socks to wear with his sneakers (“pretty white socks” he told me), and lots of dogs and babies to meet.
Soon he will learn about summer things, things like playing in the pool, eating ice cream, and going to “camp.” I might even fix up my old bike and put a carrier on the back. Turns out, having a little boy in the house has made me absolutely mad for spring, and the question, “What do you want to do today?” once asked by Matt or I of each other in boredom, now is issued as an invitation to pleasure.