Tippy-toes

This time of year is the epitome of anxiety for me.

It’s starting to warm up, and I can feel it in my bones . . .

Warm weather me and cold weather me are two very different people.

Cold weather me is quiet, sleepy, and content to live life as close to reclusive as humanly possible. I grumble at the suggestion of leaving my home, at the very impression of an obligation beyond making a paycheck and keeping my children alive.

Warm weather me though. . .

That bitch doesn’t stop from sunrise to sunset, and depending on what’s going on, keeps going well after sunset. Gardening and concerts and cookouts, long drives to nowhere, visits to the park with the hooligans, ridiculous projects with Andy, lengthy phone conversations long into the night on my back deck or sun-drenched days reading under the umbrella.  Adventures.  I cannot wait to adventure with the boys again, and now that I have conquered my fear of the expressway, there is no limit to where our day trips will take us.

I’m figuratively on my tippy toes, looking over the horizon for the first hints of spring, anxious for the days to lengthen and the ground to soften. Anxious to walk barefoot and dig my hands into the dirt and feel the suns rays heating up my skin, taking away the lethargy that plagues my existence in the winter months.

For now though, I must cope with deceptive sunrays and 50-degree days followed by 30-degree days. For now I should appreciate where I am, relish in the last few weeks of relaxation before the assault of activity of the spring and summer months.

I should. But I’m over here on my tippy toes looking towards spring, anxious to stretch my legs after this long winter hibernation, excited to get reacquainted with my more outgoing summer persona, and eager to get the adventuring underway – and to get a fucking tan.

Happy Almost Spring, everyone.

Photo by Alexandru Zdrobău on Unsplash