IT’S FRIDAY. Thank goodness. The thing is that a lot of very funny things have happened within the past 24 hours. However, I would not want my mom (or my grandma, for that matter– she reads my blog as well) to know the majority of these things. So I have decided to write about the difference in springs. I have had the Connecticut spring for the first 18 years of my life, and now I have the Ann Arbor spring.
Back home, spring meant getting the car washed. It meant painting my nails a new color from the tupperware bin of polish under the sink and putting my Uggs into the back closet off the laundry room. Here, I head down to a friend’s room to paint my nails. She’s known for having the best array of colors. I stash my Uggs away under my bed.
Back home, spring meant Mom would start buying lemonade and iced tea mix instead of hot cocoa. It meant Julia’s soccer practice would start to be held outside, and Clare’s hair would get a little blonder, and Cecily would be able to practice basketball in the driveway again. Here, I sip on lemonade from the dining hall. Sanjana takes the walk from the dorms to the art school happily now, without her usual “Can we take the bus?” and Mackenzie starts curling her hair more often than its usual stick-straightedness.
Back home, spring meant we would start sorting through summer clothes, playing the fantastic game of “whose bathing suit is whose” (it’s even worse than it sounds). It meant LC would be back in the garden as much as possible and Dad would bring back the linen shirts. Here, I smile as I remember the bathing suit that I snagged from Clare to bring on spring break. She’ll get it back May 1st. The grass is beginning to turn from brown to green and Christina retrieves her favorite pair of shorts from some scary place deep under her bed.
Although a lot is different, one thing stays the same: spring is spring.