The darling buds of March

It's really supposed to be 'the darling buds of MAY,' but if Mr. Shakespeare had lived in Texas, he would have realized that there is nothing temperate about May in Houston. Or particularly lovely, for that matter. But March? March is lovely. I noticed this morning that our oak tree in front has gone from completely bare to all over light green and leafy, seemingly overnight. And everything is covered in a pale yellow dust; evidence that male trees are aggressive in their procreative imperative. And many of us are aggressive in our autoimmune response to their procreative impairment. So long as men can breathe, indeed.

A few exciting announcements concerning my very own darling buds of March. On Monday, Harper learned to do the monkey bars at the park by herself, a skill which seems to result simply from longer arms since she last attempted, and not by any practicing on her part. And today, Hudson learned to pump himself on the swing, which thrills me because while I don't mind pushing necessarily, it is one more step to their utter outdoor independence. Which means I can get more laundry done. Or blogging, as the case may be. Helena Jane has tooth number two--the bottom right--and it doesn't appear to be causing her much aggravation. She is getting more and more independent by the day, which is a little exhausting for me. She is less content to sit and observe the world and is more intent on engaging it. For example by making a bee-line for the easel and trying to eat the chalk. OR the pebbles at the park. Or the mulch at the park. I have perfected the hooked finger method of extraction.

Also, and this will come as an enormous shock I am sure, we are keeping the dog. The husband made the big announcement yesterday, and the kids reacted with very little surprise, having been convinced from the minute they first saw her that she was theirs forever and ever amen, and that any sort of official Proclamation of Ownership was simply a formality. Anyway, I gave her a bath to celebrate and the husband bought her a cute little bed so she could start sleeping inside.

A girl, her pup, and her watergun Uzi. Touching, isn't it?


I just went to check on Harper, who is outside playing with the dog, and the bath of yesterday has been completely undone by some sort of mud treatment Harper has applied to the dog's back, because, and I quote, "She was drinking the muddy water!" The logic of a four and a half year old--that an appropriate alternative would be to instead cover the dog WITH mud. Sigh. You can forget it if you think for a second I am giving her another bath. Sasha, meet the hose.