Spring is in the air

Spring has officially arrived at our house. Know how I know? It’s not because of any date on the calendar, what groundhogs do with their shadows, that my tulips actually bloomed this year (four whole flowers, baby, count ‘em), or any of the other typical signs of the imminent season. I know spring has sprung because the water guns came out.

And what says “Happy Spring” more than two boys madly squirting unsuspecting neighbors as they enjoy the sunshine, walking down your street.

“Ugh, what are you doing?” I ask my young commandos as they crouch behind bushes in the front yard.

“We are protecting our house.”

“Really? Does it seem under attack? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like it’s that lady with the cane walking her dog who’s under attack.”

“Mom, quiet. You’ll give away our hiding spot.”

No child is left out of the fun, or the draft, it seems.

“Husband, oh husband? Are you aware of what the kids are doing? I don’t think that,” as I point in the general direction of water war, “seems like a good idea. How did they even find those guns? I thought they were cleverly buried with all our summer and lake toys.”

“I gave them to ‘em.”

Oh. Of course. Fabulous.

With that, I decided to give up early and partake in one of my favorite spring pastimes: leaving the house for an hour and getting a pedicure. I couldn’t beat ‘em, but didn’t have the energy—or aresenal—to join them either.