I'd say spring is officially here. Finally. Took it long enough. But looking outside today at the sunshine and blue skies, the lovely green buds on the trees, I'd say it's here to stay. If it weren't...if it were just teasing me, yet again...I'd have to pick up and go spend a week on the beach in Mexico.
Oh wait, I am going to spend a week on the beach in Mexico! In just three short days (or really, they'll probably be the longest days ever...you know how it is when vacation is just within a fingertips' reach...), Hubs, myself, and another couple will be heading to the airport for our long-awaited trip. This is an end-of-the-school-year-for-Hubs/needing-to-get-a-break-after-the-long-winter/1st-anniversary kind of vacation. All those things rolled into one. And saying "we're excited" would be an understatement. When our plane lands on Sunday, and we drop our stuff off at the resort, you better believe I'm heading straight for the beach. Can't wait to feel the hot sun on my face, smell the salty air, hear the seagulls and crashing waves, and squish the sand between my toes. And no, I don't say all this to make you jealous. I say all this to motivate me. "Motivation for what?" you ask...
The motivation to pack. I hate packing. It feels like it takes me years to pack. Hubs could pack for a month-long trip in about 15 minutes. I, on the other hand, take about a week. And that's just for a 2-day trip. Forget about a week-long trip. (I have no idea how I packed for my 3 and half week trip to France. My mom probably helped me.)
I just never know what I need. What I want. How much. How little. I can't decide what outfits to bring. Do I color coordinate all my clothes so I only have to bring one pair of shoes? Should I bring 3 jackets or 4? How about the kitchen sink? I roll my clothes. I unroll them and fold them. I re-roll them. I pack shoes. Unpack shoes. Put one shoe in one pouch, put the second shoe in a different pouch. Going to Antarctica? I might need a bathing suit. Going to the Equator? Better bring my snow boots. And don't even get me started on toiletries. Packing just ends up overwhelming me so much that I put it off 'til the last minute and then I either stay up way too late the night before leaving, or I am still packing about 2 seconds before I need to walk out the door. And yes, I'm also that girl that occasionally must sit on her suitcase to close it. But then again, I've been known to get all my stuff in one little (albeit, overstuffed) backpack. Explain that one. I can't.
And yes, I know some of you will say, "You should really make a list." I've tried it. Packing lists just aren't my thing. I still make them, but they inevitably do me no good. Maybe someday they'll help. No, probably not. Lord, help me whenever I have kids and have to pack for them, too. We probably just won't go anywhere until they can pack for themselves.
Anyway, I say all this to say, if anyone would like to come pack my bag for Mexico for me, I'd be much obliged. :) If I have no takers, then who knows, maybe this time I'll just pack a bathing suit and towel and call it a day. 'Cause really, what else do you need on the beach?
Ok, who am I kidding, on Saturday at 9:59 p.m. as we are about to head to the airport at 10:00 p.m., I will be putting the last few items in my bag. 'Cause, after all, that's just how I roll.
Face to the blue sky, eyes closed, content smile, a soft breeze whipping through a tangled mess of slightly curled blonde hair, warm sun enveloping the arms...the hands clasped tightly to the metal chain. Legs bending and unbending at the knee, back and forth, back and forth... The blissful laughs and elated yells of children's voices mingling with and then fading into the springtime babble of birds and insects as she soars higher and higher away into her own world of imagination...if only for a few moments...
What is it about the pure, carefree dynamism of swinging? Just you and a simple playground swing. Such a timeless act of innocent childhood, no matter your age. The story above is not of the Jessica of days gone by, not some 23 years ago. No, the story above was the Jessica of earlier this week. No shame here.
Where else would Lil' Man and I be on such a beautiful spring day? The park, of course! The May sunshine beamed down on the park inundated with moms, dads, grandparents, nannies, and children practically from birth to at least 7 years old. Toddlers shakily climbed the slides, little boys kicked soccer balls, girls skittered across monkey bars, babies sat happily in strollers or on moms' hips watching older siblings run, spin, jump, and shout. Perfect, crazy day at a park on a perfect afternoon. Amidst the wood chips and toy trucks, the chubby baby legs and dirty fingernails of rambunctious boys, the hair bows sliding out of girls' hair and the flowing Maxi skirts of chattering moms, sat the towering structure of the metal swing set. Three infant swings on one end, three regular swings on the other. All three infant swings were occupied...this was going to be quite the depressing news for Lil' Man, as swinging has become his favorite park pastime...
But, lo and behold, there was one unoccupied regular swing, residually swaying from some child's recent departure. I hoisted Lil' Man on my hip and made a beeline for the lone swing (I would have let him walk, but his semi-toddling steps would have cost precious time that would surely have ended in a swingless demise for us). We reached the swing in record time, and I plopped down with Lil' Man in my lap. If he had been one of those squirmy wormy types, I probably wouldn't have attempted to swing with him, but no worries with that extremely laid back child. I pressed the soles of my flip-flops into the caked-up dirt, pushed off, and slowly began to pump my legs to send us off on our swinging adventure...
Good gracious, I hadn't been on a swing in forever! I'd almost forgotten how much I love swinging! The wind in your hair, the tightening of muscles as you pump your legs faster and faster, the brief moments of near weightlessness. I'm not sure that I recognized the beauty of a swing when I was 6, but to do it years later, in the busy, stress-filled days of adulthood...well, there is just something somewhat freeing about partaking in a few minutes of lighthearted childhood fun.
I probably would have kept on swinging longer than we did, but I wasn't accustomed to 25 extra pounds of person sitting in the same swing as me. I stopped pumping and slowly slid Lil' Man off my lap. He didn't want to stop swinging, of course, but frankly...neither did I.
Maybe you weren't a swing kind of kid when you were little. Maybe you liked the slide or the sandbox. Whatever it was that you loved as a child, I completely recommend throwing adult decorum out the window sometime, just for a moment, and partaking in a special little piece of childhood. We all can use a break from this crazy, rollercoaster of a ride called being "grown-up" every now and again.
