Clearly you have forgotten me.
So, I wrote you a poem to help jog your fickle little mind…
Rain and wind, go away,
Don’t bother coming back another day.
Because you suck.
Do you like it, Spring?!
Not that I even care one itty bitty if you do.
I’m not wasting my time on this one sided relationship any more; I’m tired of pining after you while you ignore me completely.
I’m over you anyway; I’m ready for summer to rock my world.
I know, I should be happy that’s it not 32 degrees anymore, but I just can’t do it.
I swear, Spring, you’re so the teasing little tramp unpredictable.
One day we’re enjoying this…
And the next, we’re sitting in the house trying to busy ourselves with crafts we hate doing and baked goods that make us jittery as we attempt to avoid the flash flood warnings that are washing our unkempt front yard away.
We want to blow bubbles…
And swing on swings…
And give #3 ample opportunity to plummet from the top of teh jungle gym straight down to the ground.
Okay, maybe not the last one, but park injury is a risk you take to enjoy park weather. As much as I was horrified by the incident, it’s just one of the dangers I’m willing to face to GET OUTSIDE OF THIS BLOODY HOUSE!
Perhaps I have that winter-makes-me-mopey-and-mean psychological disorder that people are always going on about?
Because it seems that I feel all seasonal and affective and disorderly like this every year when the weather turns cold.
It starts shortly after the Christmas holidays and generally lasts up until Easter.
Doesn’t help that we live on the shady side of the street either. I get to look out the window at the across-the-street neighbors and get all jealous that the snow in their yard has melted completely. Their grass is starting to come up all green, while mine is still partially covered in clumps of dirty, yellow snow (what? I have three Dudes and they don’t care if it’s freezing outdoors, peeing in the yard is generally preferred to peeing in the house like an everyday human being).
So yeah, Spring, get your butt in and out of here with a quickness.
I don’t care if you’re a lion, or a lamb, or Sam I Am.
I’m officially declaring myself a Summer girl.
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