It's been a sly one this year, that spring. Callum and I just finished up spring break, and our best day was Sunday, the day before we head back to work and school. Sunday of soaring temperatures and sunny skies. As I sat typing this, Tyler was outside mowing our grass (it's true, our neighbor mows our grass, what kind of sweet deal is that!), the dogs were splayed out in random corners of the yard, so stunned by sun that none of them noted a bird hopping idly along in the shade beneath Callum's swing, and a robin sped madly along the roof of our shed, his beak filled with bits of twig and grass. The phlox is coming in, along with the hyacinth and jonquils. Dandelions too, but fortunately Neel is ever-vigilant.
Callum too, seems stunned by spring. This team sport thing has been so good for our boy. He's one of the youngest out there, soaking it all in, bursting into bud like the trees that line our street. I can see the confidence bloom upon him. At times his need to be big kid among them, his teammates - the other big kids, clashes with our awareness of his comparative youth.
"No, you can't go up there by yourself. There needs to be an adult with you."
"But I'm not a baby," he wails.
And he's not a baby. Too little and too big. We try to help him save a little face, riding bikes along instead of driving him, but staying very clear that he's not there yet, big kid. I'm reminded of fat toddler hands that tried to scramble out of mine to go alone up and down the stairs. It was ever thus and thus it ever will be.