Do You Want to Build a Snowman?

 

 

Me, neither. 

 

We were enjoying the squish of mud beneath our soccer cleats and the pop of crocus buds appearing in our yard. 

 

Rain boots were at the ready and the zoo circled by three kids in a red wagon. 

 

I bought potting soil.  Lettuce seeds.  Violets. 

 

The neighborhood kids had emerged from hibernation and ventured into our yard toting soccer balls and thoughts of made-up games.   

 

Rainbow-colored kites raced clouds against a pale blue track. 

 

Spring had sprung like an old rusted lock - creaky and slow - but finally ready to reveal its treasure. 

 

But, then:

 

The kids got invited to a birthday party for one of their favorite turning-four-year-old friends. 

 

I racked my brain for ways to spend the evenings curled up, stitching on the couch while watching The Voice and Big Bang Theory with the hubs, rather than sneaking off to peruse toy aisles at Target.

 

A certain little snowman's carrot nose and twiggy limbs curled themselves around my mind.  I pulled out dinner plates, tracing paper, and felt.  I never looked back.  Perhaps, I should have. 

 

Really, someone should have warned me to just let it go.

 

Yesterday, I walked through sleet on my way to an ultrasound appointment. 

 

 

 

 

I blame Olaf.