I woke up this morning with the sun shining in my eyes. A big, golden, unapologetic sun.
My girl was standing next to the bed, peering at my face. "Wake up!" she said. "I wrote a secret note for you and hid it somewhere in the house!"
It was too early for this, but there's an early spring. It wasn't too early.
We fed ducks, yesterday and saw a herd of buffalo on the hillside. We opened the sunroof and put our hands out, into the wind. We ate spoonfuls of raw honey and cinnamon and wished away the last baby cold of the year. It has to be the last sickness, the flowers are poking their way through the mud. I'm sewing my seeds early.
I'm thinking of New York City, the zoo and Coney Island, all of our old friends who live at the bar. I'm thinking of riding bikes on the waterfront, of sharing peanut butter sandwiches beside the water stairs. I'm dreaming of falling cherry blossoms on the pavement, of the art museum and the carousel in the park.
I plan adventures that make my husband nervous. He rolls his eyes and shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He jumps at the sound of a fork being dropped on a plate.
"But, WHY?" I beg him. "Why doesn't that sound fun to you?"
"It sounds like a hassle," he says.
I want to cry. I want to throw a brick through the front window. I want to not make him uncomfortable with my desire to get out of here.
"We could stay at my aunt's house in New Jersey," I tell him. "They have plenty of room and Liz has a membership at the Central Park Zoo. She has a friend who works at the freak show on Coney Island. I'll take care of everything."
He acquiesces. He always does. He'd rather die than pack up the children and go on a 5 hour car ride and sleep in an unfamiliar place. He's thinking of how Louise will cry at bedtime and how I'll start yelling at the traffic, how we'll have to spend money on gas and food, and the thing is... he's right.
But, he suddenly changes his tune and says, "Okay, honey. Sure, honey. That sounds fun."
I feel like such a bully.
It's just that... maybe I am a bully. Maybe sometimes I just want to punch a big hole right into the sky and scramble up a tree, knocking branches down as I climb, pelting walkers-by with falling nests and chestnuts. I want to claw my way out of this still and grey winter.
photo by josiah mackenzie
Today's post is a link up with Heather of The Extraordinary Ordinary's Just Write. If you want to join in, write something about the details of your day and link up! Be sure to read a few other pieces and get to know some great new writers in the process.