“God, how wonderful is this little spring?”

``God, how wonderful is this little spring?''

I couldn’t believe it when a colleague said the weather would be spring. 17 degrees? Yes, of course! It’s been so cold, gray, and rainy for so long that I’ve already given up hope that we’ll ever see spring.

Suddenly there was. the sun. I sprinted out into the yard, pulled the pillows out of the garage, and grabbed a book and reading glasses. Every nanosecond the sun was peeking out from under the clouds, I was rolling up my sleeves and pant legs and stretching out my limbs like a starfish.

Bok (11) joined me with earplugs, and I watched her feet tap the tiles in a relaxing way to the beat of the music. I woke up the cells of my winter depression and danced salsa. Every fiber in my body came to life. An hour later the sun disappeared again. But my God, this little spring has done me so well.

With the sound of GP racing in the background, we ate soup and chips. Then Hubby and Olle (8) hung out in front of the TV, and Puk and I took a dip in the shower. I took off my shirt. Unfortunately no color yet. Buck took off her shirt. We can clearly see her shirt drawn on her arms. “how is that possible?!?” I lunged.

Freckles are the bomb

“Dad, it’s not fair,” I heard. “My mom doesn’t even have a tan, whereas I have to smudge again so I don’t burn.” “Your mom is Greek. Well, a little bit. At least enough to tan quickly and not burn. You have my genes and you have as Dutch as you can get. Your skin reacts differently,” muttered the hubby, he and I heard Puk go up the stairs again.

“And you know,” I added as she came to stand next to me, “I tan easily, but I really like your freckles, right?” Bok looked at her freckles through the mirror. She continued, “Look, how beautiful. Like a galaxy exploded in your face.” Satisfied, Bok nodded at his freckles.

“It’s strange, isn’t it, how different we are? Mama, who has to survive the winter with her teeth chattering all winter, and the cold in her bones. And then you and Dad, who’d rather lie in the snow in their bathing suits.”

Depressed winter hives

Pug laughed. I grabbed my phone to see how much divine sun was still in store. I cursed, “poop,” “next week it’s going to rain all week again, hail, everything.” My cells suffering from winter depression abruptly stopped the sauce and quickly crawled back under their blankets.

“Just have a little patience, it will really be spring,” I whispered to myself. Although I know this, staring at the thunderclouds on my screen, I’m not so sure. I stroked the freckles on Bock’s nose.

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