Lucky break

Oh, my sweet bloggy circle of friends, near and far, known and unknown... please don't give up on me just yet.

It's true that I've been a perfectly horrible correspondent lately: friendly and funny e-mails have gone unanswered, wonderfully witty and wise blog posts have gone uncommented (not a word? well, it should be) and this blog has gathered dust and grown weeds even as my backyard has erupted in blossoms and buds of every conceivable color.

Tender red photinia leaves, shocking fuschia redbuds, snowy white pear trees and tiny verdant shoots of new grass: my black-and-white computer screen can't possibly compete.

Then, of course, there's the matter of the boy. At this point in our life, how can spring break cause such a disruption in our weekly schedule? He's just one kid, going to preschool three days a week. Yet, errands that I might have run with two in tow will have to wait: no way am I wrangling all three of my offspring into a store unless it's an absolute emergency. Like, we're out of milk. Or vodka. You other mothers know what I'm talking about.

Also: the naps that used to power me through the first half of the week? Not happening right now. What I hoped in vain might be a fleeting nap strike is, I am stubbornly forced to admit, the reasonable and appropriate recognition that a four-year-old doesn't actually NEED a ninety-minute nap anymore. Sigh. There went a block of free computer time, followed by a brief but restorative snooze on the couch.

Despite these petty grievances, we've actually had a marvelous spring break. We've had playdates every day: the Galleria, the park, a neighbor's house and two here at home. We've explored every inch of the backyard, dumped and scooped buckets and buckets of sand (and, in the process, schlepped at least a million grains of the stuff into every room of the house) and conducted multiple experiments with homemade mud.

And now, it's time for a little break of my own. Our own, to be precise: just Mr. F5 and me. Amazingly enough, thirteen years have passed since that spring afternoon when we looked each other in the eyes and said, "I do" before a small gathering of friends and family.

One of those who was present, my brother John, wasn't even three years old at the time: younger than Carter, a little older than the twins. Now he's going to serve as babysitting assistant to our mom, who's agreed to spend twenty-four uninterrupted hours with the kids while Trey and I make ourselves scarce.

So the blogging once again takes a backseat. Which is probably as it should be. But I'll be back soon, I promise. Enjoy the break. I know I will.