It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood

I am almost afraid that by blogging about our beautiful weather, I will jinx it- send it back into hiding, and thereby be forced to bid it farewell. What a splendid and springlike day we enjoyed, this second Saturday in March!! We awoke to drunken sunshine, blissful breezes, and the static of Spring in the air...After mugs of coffee consumed and clean diapers donned, we made our way outside. It was a day to get our hands dirty!

We moved into our home in November, amidst the scene of leaves falling, and crunching brown beneath our shoed feet. In that cool month and those to follow, we concerned ourselves with the interior. We broke out gallons of paint, in shades of Ryegrass, French Roast, Teacup, and Plum Dandy, and buried ourselves beneath the work of refinishing floors, and rearranging furniture. We snuggled beneath blankets and throws, and wore extra socks and sweaters, as gas prices rose and our thermometer setting fell.

Our one nod to the exterior was the installation of our fence. Men showed up on our doorstep on December 5th to begin their arduous task. They played hookie on the 6th, when it snowed 3 disappointing inches, and returned promptly on the 7th to make good on their promise.

And today we made good on ours.

Robert cleared the yard of sticks and branches, roots and limbs, while I raked buckets-full of overripe autumn leaves, and hauled them to the curb. We chuckled as we came to the conclusion that our mulch-loving predecessors were yardwork-phobics. I cleared and swept, then re-organized our garage, while Robert dug at the stubborn roots of a bush, planted square in the center of the yard, for reasons we've given up trying to explain. Ella collected sweet gum balls and stones, teetering and tottering around the yard and driveway, covering herself in a dusty shell to be shed tonight in the bathtub.

And that is the scene in our house now. I have turned over bath duty to daddy, entirely. HE is drawing the bath. HE is dispensing the bubbles. HE is dousing and scrubbing and rinsing. And I am sipping Syrah, listening to the glorious ruckus a room-and-a-hallway away, and composing a symphony (aka- blog) to make music of our rather regular life.

Good night, fair readers. Sleep well, and dream of days like ours...