With daffodils in full bloom, windows open, and kids playing outside in t-shirts, I thought it about as good a time as any to remember the snow storm of 2018. The storm that sent four crippling inches of snow and closed the city for several days. The storm that gave my kids hours of snowy delight before melting and returning to a balmy 50 degrees. The storm that reminded me of the drippy chore of arranging snowy hats and mittens and boots on a beach towel by the back door.
But alas. Spring is coming. Trees are showing buds. Days are brighter longer. And baseball season has started, which, in our home is the official announcement that spring is here.
(Pics of my boys in the snow? Forget it. They were long gone in the woods. Or down the street playing football. Or running like maniacs with the neighbors dogs.)