Posts Tagged ‘spring’

‎She wore a bright pink rain jacket, the sleeves turned up at the cuffs and the hood bouncing against her back as she ran.

It was the colour that caught my attention as I sat in my car, about 15 cars back from the stop sign, waiting. I fiddled with the buttons on my stereo, trying to find a song other than Katy Perry’s “Dark Horse.” Not that I have anything against Katy Perry, per se, but is it just me or does it seem like that particular song is on the radio all the time?

As I fiddled with the buttons, out of the corner of my eye I saw the pink. Bright pink. I turned my head and saw her running down the sidewalk, the smile on her face so big and wide that I couldn’t help but feel myself grin just watching her.

I guessed that she would be about a year and a half, determined b‎y nothing else other than the fact that she was running at a pretty decent pace but still had that “I could fall over at any moment” look about her. I had forgotten that I remembered that look.

The mother in me pulled my eyes away from her long enough to confirm that someone was there with her, and I saw what I assumed was her mother trotting along behind her. She wore a thin cardigan that she tried to pull tighter as she walked, an obvious attempt to keep herself warm in the cool winds of early spring.

Of course she made sure that her daughter was bundled up tight in a rain jacket and boots but she didn’t even remember to grab a jacket for herself. How automatically we mothers tend to put ourselves second. I wanted to get out of my car and give her my jacket, believing desperately that mothers also need someone to mother us sometimes.

It became obvious to me that the little girl was not running away from her mother but was rather running towards someone. I turned my head to see if I could catch a glimpse of who ‎she was running to, but my sight line was obscured. I imagined it was her dad, just off the train, walking quickly home to her, desperate to see her smiling face and little legs pumping as fast as they could carry her.

I imagined that’s why her mom was smiling too, because dad coming home meant she had made it through another day. How intensely I can remember that feeling from my own time at home when my kids were little. The feeling of crossing the finish line (finally) and having some help (finally) and maybe, just maybe, a warm bath and ten minutes of peace and quiet (finally) would be in my future.

It may not have been her dad. It may have been someone completely different, or even something completely different and not a person at all. But I’m choosing to believe it was her dad and that when they finally got close enough to each other, that he dropped the bag he was carrying ‎and lifted her up into the sky, spinning her around a few times before hugging her tightly to his chest.

I’m choosing to believe it because sometimes it’s nice to imagine the happy endings for a change, instead of always seeing the unhappy realities.

Every now and then it’s nice to see past the dreary grey of the world and let in a little bit of bright pink.

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Waking up when I wanted to, not when the alarm clock told me it was time.

A good morning hug and the sound of an egg cooking in the pan.

A trip to the grocery store with a hot cup of tea and a list; no rush, no panic, just a relaxing spin up and down the aisles.

All of my chores done by 2:00 and a day sunny and warm enough to finally head outside.

A walk around the block with my daughter, just far enough ahead of me on her scooter to pretend she’s on her own, but still stopping every now and then to turn around and make sure I was there.


A day warm enough to take a deep breath and fill my lungs with fresh air.

A sky blue enough to look up and appreciate what is yet to come.  The trees are still bare but they hold in them the hope of more warm days to come.  After so much cold and grey and dark, spring may finally be here.

blue sky and tree

Home for a cup of tea in a fancy cup and saucer, with nothing more to celebrate than making it through another week, and learning to appreciate a good day, however and whenever it comes.

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The purple ones

What’s wrong with this picture?

I’m trying to do better, really I am.

I’m trying to see the forest for the trees, and smell the roses, and breath deeply, and express gratitude, and on and on and on.

I’m trying, really.

And I think I’m doing better, I think I’m getting the hang of it.  Until the day I come up my front path and notice that my tulips have blossomed.  For one single moment I feel all of those emotions that I’m trying to feel.  I feel peace and happiness and contentment and gratitude.

And then I realize that the stupid purple ones are growing in the wrong place.





I know I should just relax and let it go.  I’m sure no one else notices.  I’m sure everyone else just walks by and thinks how pretty the tulips are.  I’m sure they’re happier and more content and more relaxed than me because I just can’t let it go.

For a couple of minutes I actually consider digging them up and moving them around so the colours are more evenly distributed.

Welcome to life in my head.

I didn’t dig them up though.  I just left them.  I realize I should look at this as an opportunity for growth.  I should use this as a lesson in how life is not meant to be perfect and how I need to learn to accept the bad along with the good.  I understand that I should turn this into one of Oprah’s “ah ha” moments and write a book about it.

But I can’t.

Instead, every time I walk up the path I see the stupid purple tulips that are all lumped together.


If you listen very closely, you can hear a faint chuckle dancing on the breeze.

It’s the universe.

And it’s laughing at me.

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Quite honestly, there were times when I doubted if it was ever going to come.  I thought it was going to be grey forever, and cold forever, and bleak and dim and stark forever.

And just when I thought I couldn’t take it any longer, it finally arrived.

Now the signs are all around me.  There is colour where for so long there was only grey; warmth where there was only cold; soft edges where there were only sharp corners.

Spring has arrived.

And I’m loving every minute of it.

New buds 2013

Magnolias - Spring 2013

Spring 2013

Tulips 2013

I hope wherever you are, whatever you may doing, that you’re also seeing the signs.

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