Miss is growing carrots. She and her daddy check this pot faithfully every day to see if anything is growing yet. (I faithfully cover it with a bowl every night to make sure the cats don't ruin her plans by knocking it over or puking in it, or digging through it - for buried treasure? I don't know. Ask them.)
I need spring to come because it will smell like dirt outside, not just look like dirt, and I want to strap the kids into the stroller and use up the long afternoon by walking and walking and walking in the sunshine. And smelling dirt, obviously.
I need spring to come because last night, Miss wouldn't stay in bed and we had the closest thing to a knock down, drag out fight that you can have with a toddler and still be a parent. We. Need. To. Play. Outside.
I need spring to come because Kristy keeps posting pictures of her (hopefully balding) lettuce, and it's making me itch to get out to The Backyard that Time Forgot and whip it into shape without spending any money.
I don't want spring to come because that countdown widget on the sidebar has the disturbing - and entirely unexpected - tendency to count down. It used to look like this:
