Sick & Tired even as the World turns Mud-luscious

pretty spot in my father's gardens last year

Ah, spring. Hooray!

No, really, I'm exhausted, but thrilled that you are here.

Pretty and promising, in all your budding glory.

Today, a mist hangs in the balmy air, making me think that ee cummings still said it best, describing the world in spring as Mud-luscious and puddle-wonderful.

And yet.

Mine started yesterday following a near all-nighter: One hot-tamale kid, whose birthday it just happened to have been, in bed next to me, burning up and shivering. All. Night. Long.

How can a mother possibly sleep with a hot-tamale, birthday kid?

So, I lay awake, sorry he was feverish, but suddenly realizing I was actually reveling in the quiet exhaustion of being a mom. Feeling his head, his hot belly, stumbling to the kitchen to get water and Advil. Wrapping arms around his sweet, shivery body. Being vigilant while he slept, knowing I was protecting him.

I mean, how long do I have left to do this, to tend to a sick child who crawls into bed next to me for comfort?

He just turned 14. That's only, uh, a handful of days. I'm glad I can't actually do the math in my head.

Don't even get me started on how fast it goes.

So, the kid's back to school, and it's taken me a whole 24-hour cycle to catch up.


Meanwhile, all around me, early blooms are up, bobbing their cheerful, hopeful, brightly-colored heads. Which is nice, since I'm still waiting on a bunch of shit that's otherwise making me feel like I'm wading through seasons of dark, thick molasses.

But it's all good. Spring has sprung and the world is mud-luscious all around.

Happy, happy.

- gae

p.s. Here's the full ee cummings poem if you're craving it. :)

[in Just-]
By E. E. Cummings 1894–1962

in Just-
spring when the world is mud-
luscious the little
lame balloonman

... whistles far and wee

and eddieandbill come
running from marbles and
piracies and it's
spring

when the world is puddle-wonderful

the queer
old balloonman whistles
far and wee
and bettyandisbel come dancing

from hop-scotch and jump-rope and

it's
spring
and

the

goat-footed

balloonMan whistles
far
and
wee