Spring hasn't even hit the calendar and yet we have barely had any winter at all. I'm not so un-Chicagoan as to jinx it all and put our winter coats away but I'm letting the sunshine hit my pasty-white legs and fade my gadillion-dollar dual-processed hair as often as possible.
That means I'm also giving in to the small child's incessant begging for summer silliness -- watergun show-downs and playing tag at the park before dinner and eating more ice cream than usual. Why not? Next week, we will probably be shoveling snow.
This afternoon, he was set on a watergun battle with my parents, allayed only by the opportunity to "earn cash" from Grandma by picking up sticks in the backyard. I told him I'd meet him at their house and bring over the Ziploc full of tiny squirters after his chores were finished. He was so afraid I'd open water-fire on him when he answered the door, I could hear him squealing from the other side when I rang the bell. My mother cautiously opened the door, and there he was in the dining room, squeezed back into a dark corner with a plastic chair held up as a shield.
His worries were premature. I hadn't even filled the water guns. In fact, I made him prep them all and hand them out fairly (such an only child, always trying to take two and leave someone totally defenseless) and then I unleashed the fury. My mom was soaked within minutes and my dad ruthless fired at my head while I reloaded in the trash can full of hose-water my mom left on the front porch.
We had so much fun, laughing and perching behind tiny trees in the neighbors yard as protection (unsuccessfully). We refilled and reloaded until we were all worn and very wet. All, but Lil E, who wanted to keep on until dark.
We did this all last summer -- drenching each other with super-soakers and surprising each other with stray water streams through car doors and after school -- and it's just come a bit earlier year.
Which gives me plenty of time to let the fear of being sprayed down fade away and then show up at the front door with my own water theatrics -- crazy-cold hose-water-filled dollar-store guns blazing all over my boy who thinks he's the one with the smart strategy.
Watch out, son. It's going to be lonnnnng and crazy season. And hasn't even officially begun.