Less than two months ago, by this time on a Sunday afternoon, the sky would be well on its way to dark. Less than two months ago, I sat at the table where I write now, waiting for snow to fall. Since then, we've had the most snowfall I've seen in western Washington in my entire adult life. We missed five days of school. My daughter sprained her ankle during her first soccer practice of the spring season, which happened on a rather lovely afternoon during the first week of March; the next day the sky began to spit snow again while we waited for X-rays, and she learned how to navigate crutches through freezing slush. Ten days later, the temperatures soared into the seventies, hitting record highs. I love the feel of spring air on bare arms, and the sharp scent of freshly-mown grass, and everyone knows how much I love the first sign of cherry blossoms. But the sudden heat in the wrong season is so unsettling to me, as are the predictions that we're in for a hot and dry summer. That might sound appealing after so much snow, but I know we'll spend August breathing nothing but smoke. Again. And I can't believe there are actual people who continue to deny the effects of climate change.
But still, now, at the end of the slog that is the month of March, I believe in gratitude, in experiencing as much as I can with great joy.
This was my Friday evening: Suzannah ensconced in her room with a book, Matt and Isaac outside playing basketball. I sipped wine and read my own book as a pot of buffalo cauliflower soup simmered on the stove. Everything about that soup was wonderful, especially the fact that Matt prepped all the fresh cauliflower, carrots, onion, and garlic I put in it so it was really easy for me to throw together, and also my son happens to love it. Suzannah tolerates it, barely, and that's fine too. Matt brought home nice bread from Trader Joe's, and Friday is our Family Movie Night, so no one could be too grouchy.
I've felt like garbage for a couple of weeks now, battling the same cold as everyone else in Washington state. So many of my students have been out sick, and let me tell you how thrilled I was when one of them sneezed all over the keyboard of my laptop when they were using it to access a PowerPoint for a presentation. It reminded me of having toddlers and the times when they would sneeze directly into my eyeballs, and then we all had colds for four years with only brief breaks, like maybe a week in May and a week in July? Those weeks when nobody had runny noses were nice. Or maybe we'd just given up and resigned ourselves to enjoying spring afternoons and summer mornings despite the snot. Whatever. I'm recovering.
On Friday afternoon, I decided to go for a jog instead of heading straight to the couch, because the cherry trees are blossoming and the air is pleasantly warm and the streets of my neighborhood are so lovely, even on a slightly overcast spring afternoon. And on Friday night I went to bed early and slept deeply -- for the first time in weeks -- without a cough drop gluing my tongue to the roof of my mouth. On Saturday morning the kids let us stay in bed longer than they usually do, and then we all headed out for Suzannah's first soccer game. I do love the first soccer game of spring, that feeling of being back, of moving and playing (even if it's not me on the field; maybe I just mean the feeling of all of us waking up and wanting to be outside). Suzannah's doctor wanted her to wait until next week to return fully to normal activities, so she couldn't play yesterday, but she was there for her team, and the rest of us cheered for these girls we've been cheering for the past three years. The game happened to be at the muddiest field in King County; our first game was there last year, too, in the pouring rain, and Matt and I laughed at the memory of Isaac and the coach's son playing hard anyway until Isaac slipped and fell in the mud and there went our plans to head directly to IKEA afterwards, since he was drenched and angry and covered in wet, sloppy mud from his cheekbones to his toes. But yesterday we sat in the sunshine, in sunglasses and T-shirts. After the game we went out for lunch at 7 Seas, and I ate half of one of my very favorite sandwiches in the entire universe and drank a cold beer with it. We went shopping for my nephew's first birthday. We stopped at a coffee shop we love, and I ordered mine iced. The kids each took a sip and gagged dramatically. Back home, I had just enough time to go for another little jog in the sunshine that just calls me to move and be outside and take a bubble bath before eating a quick dinner (the other half of that fabulous sandwich) before heading to the high school for a Big Band showcase. Suzannah joined jazz band this year, and her band director is really, really good and I am constantly in awe of what he is able to draw from middle schoolers who have only been playing for a year or two. They joined the jazz bands at the high school for this showcase, which mostly featured Jazz I, but absolutely all of it was phenomenal. Full disclosure: I was not really looking forward to spending several hours of my Saturday night at the high school, but when I drove my happy daughter home afterwards, I had absolutely zero regrets. The musicianship was phenomenal, and as someone who had an excellent musical experience throughout high school and college, I have obnoxiously high standards. And I also just really loved watching my daughter enjoy the night with her friends, even if it meant she did not want to sit with me. Also, there was cake and an auction. Look, I don't even go to the auction for my own school, because those kinds of social events are seriously the absolute worst for an introvert like me, like who would I even be cool enough to sit with? But at this auction, all I had to do was sit at a table with my family, eat cake, and enjoy the music. I loved every moment of the performances. Music like that is my thing.
Matt and I figured our little guy would be tired and totally done before the night was actually done, and we weren't wrong, but he actually lasted much longer than we predicted. We kept glancing over to see him grooving. The and took a break near the end to auction off a bunch of things, and at that point, Matt and I looked at each other and said, yeah, our son needs to go to bed. What was funny is that neither one of us really wanted to leave, when I'd assumed that both of us would want to be the parent to head out early and tuck him into bed. In the end, Matt took Isaac home, and I sat alone at our table, just really loving it all -- these high school kids who've worked incredibly hard, their teachers who bring out the best they have to give. Watching my daughter with her friends. Cheering for her after their final combined number and catching a glimpse in that moment of the wonderful person she will become. Is becoming.
I write all this to remember, simply because it's a snapshot, a moment in time in an ordinary month, a long month, and it reminds me of everything I love. It reminds me to stay grateful in these long months. To notice the small things. The cherry blossoms and the really good sandwiches and the sweet moments with our children, who are growing and growing and growing. Spending these gorgeous spring days and these music-filled nights with my family is my thing. I suppose I lead a simple life, but it's mine. It's ours. I never want a single moment to pass without my noticing, because to live in these moments is everything, everything I ever wanted, even before I knew I wanted it.
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