mud

I am knee-deep in mud.

It covers ever pant leg, child, bag, coat-tail, tire, and spirit within 100 yards of my front door.  Winter, with all its hibernating and resting and storing up, leaves quietly.  The snow and cold melt away and make room.  But Spring.  Spring is messy. 

Spring is the middle place.  Put the sleds away, wipe off the swing, muck out the chicken coop.  Watch the potholes, beg the sun to dry out the land, lose a layer of long sleeves.  Spring is the awakening, the starting over, the application. Stand on the porch with your hands on your hips and a baby holding tight to your calf while another chases the dog to the mailbox.  Spring.    

It comes every year at nearly the same time, and yet I am always caught by surprise.  Mud.  Everywhere.  Inside and out.  It’s unavoidable.  Buy some good boots and walk right through it.

My name is Katie, and I am a fan of the extended metaphor.

There is no 110 percent. Your very best is 100 percent. There is nothing above and beyond that, and anyone who asks for it doesn’t understand life or fifth-grade math.

– Shawn Bean (executive editor, Parenting Magazine)

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About texasnorth

TexasNorth is a little farm in Western Michigan. It's home to 5 chickens, 25 longhorn cattle, a coonhound (Banjo), 1 barn cat, a husband, and 3 ridiculously funny children. The mom of this zoo has been known to mow the lawn in a skirt and roast marshmallows after dark. View all posts by texasnorth

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