Where are you, Springtime?

Ok, Spring.  I surrender.  You win.  Just please, please.  Please arrive.

I can handle the cold winter, the ice and snow, the dark afternoons.  But once we move the clocks forward, and we eat corned beef and cabbage for St Patrick's day, and the first day of spring arrives, I do not handle 30 degree days very well.  Needless to say it's been a rough week.

I've allowed my house to match the dismal conditions outdoors.  I leave dishes piled in the sink, like  mountains of dirty unmelted snow.  Toys and clothes litter the floor, like the random winter hats and gloves found in the mud left by the mountains of snow that have melted.  At night I bury myself under many layers of blankets, as if I lived in a log cabin in Minnesota.  Do I sound like I'm complaining?  Because I am.  Just ask my husband.

Now that I've got that out of my system,

Today we went to the greenhouse at the Chicago Botanic Garden.  It was kind of like a tropical vacation.  Ummm, kind of.

Did you notice?  We aren't wearing hats or gloves and Audrey doesn't even have her jacket on. Spring must be just around the corner.

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