Dear Kid,

Not only is there magic in our everyday lives (for a reminder, see Notice the Magic Before It Disappears), there is magic in nature.

This time of year, there is magic in the crocuses and daffodils fighting their way through the last of winter. There is magic in the delight a warm day manages to spread over all of us. There is magic in each bud that unfurls (how does nature get all of those buds so equally perfect?).

And of course, there is nature’s magical way of making us all sneeze simultaneously.

I love spring (not so much the spring allergies, but it’s the price we pay in the Midwest). I love watching the way the trees and plants come to life slightly more each day. I love hearing the birds discuss the joys of being alive in spring. I love the way the deer wander through the front yard, heading directly for the tasty tulip leaves. (I joke, I do not exactly love sharing the tulips with the deer, but I don’t dis-love it enough to stake out the front garden and hand out reprimands. That will come later in the season.)

Behold! It is the Springtide of the Year (and all that).

The weather is magical. Warm one minute, frigid the next. Bam! Magic.

I love looking for babies in spring. The baby chipmunks that pop up to see if mom and dad are around. The baby bunnies so tiny they can hide in the lawn (especially if we’re a little behind on the mowing). The baby birds who demand mom and dad bring home dinner. The baby deer who freely help themselves to whatever they can reach (OK, not the parent deer, but the babies I will share with).

None of these babies are around yet. It’s still too early. But that doesn’t stop me from looking for them. Remind me to plan a trip to the zoo for Zoo Babies later in the spring.

It’s spring, it’s the season of renewal, and I think it’s magical.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Me (drying Booker’s feet): You owe Dad an apology.
Booker (lifting his right front paw): What for?
Me: For waking him.
Booker: Did not. He was going to get up to watch Olympic hockey.
Me: Nonetheless, you owe him an apology.
Booker: He yells louder at the TV!
Me: This foot please. You need to apologize.
Booker (confounded and frustrated): The house, maybe the entire Universe, was under threat of imminent attack!

Previously:

Half an hour earlier, there were four deer on our front lawn. Big deer. Really big deer. Booker sprang into action. And by “sprang” I mean “exploded.”

He barked. He yipped. He made sounds a dog five times his size would envy. He jumped. He shook. He tried to claw his way through the dining room windows to get to the deer. He made more noise than an entire pack of trained hunting dogs could make. I thought he was going to expel a kidney.

Synchronized deer turned their heads to stare (ooh! New Olympic sport: synchronized skiing!). They seemed slightly curious about all the mayhem but basically unimpressed.

Booker raced from window to window giving the impression an entire battalion was arming itself for an assault.

The look on the largest deer’s face clearly said, “Seriously little dude?” After a few minutes, the pack moved off down the street.

Booker upped the volume (which I didn’t think was possible). The commotion registered a 3.4 on the Richter scale.

I finally got a leash on him and we went out for our morning walk. By which I mean I walked, he pulled on the leash and tried to track the deer. This involved a good deal of Serious Staring, Sniffing, and Surveying and did not involve actual Deer Sighting. (The deer may be condescending, but they are not stupid.)

Which brings me back to our conversation.

Me: You owe Dad an apology for waking him. (And the entire Tri State area.)
Booker: I was protecting the house.
Me: The house is fine.
Booker: It is now.
Me: The deer were not interested in the house. You owe Dad an apology.
Booker: I protected all the bulbs you planted last fall.

Pause.

Booker got a few extra bits of kibble in his breakfast.

Hope you don’t need to defend your territory as ferociously today.

Love, Mom

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