Boing

Spring has apparently sprung. Perhaps the run-up happened while we were in Ireland, but I'm not the only person who feels that it's indecently sudden for 80-degree days to be happening. I like warmer weather, but I don't really want to bust out the sunhats and the factor 50 just yet.

Still, today I was wearing sandals and tonight the inaugural painting of the toenails will occur. It's time to see which of the kids' shorts still fit them, and where the gaps are in their summer wardrobes. (Shorts: they last forever. No knees to go through, and the torso still fits for years, so if they're below the knee the first year, they're on the knee the second year, and might still work above the knee for a third year, if your children are my children. Mabel, today, was wearing what started out as 18-24-month capri pants. They're just right on the bum (if she's wearing underwear), not yet too short in the rise, and are now pedal pushers.

I'm not saying this is it and we're into summer now - at least, I hope not. This week is a warning shot across the bows, so that we remember all the things that need to be done - summer-camp research, beach-house booking, new-sandal acquisition, perhaps - and get around to them in seemly fashion.

Meanwhile I should probably stop complaining about the heat, admire the burgeoning blossom, and appreciate the fact that lots of good outdoor time today has given me a peacefully slumbering Mabel, even if I did have to wash a layer of grime off the soles of her feet before bed, because shoes in warm weather are not a thing she agrees with.