The Situation

Spring has officially sprung here at the Ball house.

Actually, it blew in on strong winds (try to go for a jog in this weather, girls, and you'll have thighs harder than your kids' resolve to avoid after-dinner dish duty) and sudden 80-degree midday high temperatures. But, tomato, tomahto, you know what I mean.

When I titled this post "The Situation," this is what I meant:

Our beautiful, tiny little peach tree. Right around the end of March, it explodes.

These blossoms don't stick around for long. My guess is that they'll be gone before the weekend is over.

After all, they were just shy, tiny buds two days ago.

Wow. Jim, can we get a close-up of that one?

If a bunch of pastel pink, blue and green photos don't put you in the mood for an Easter egg hunt, I don't know what will.

This here is Daphne, the Ball family dog. Daphne is a Jack Russell terrier. We love Daphne, especially when she's covered in ashes from our fireplace.

In case you can't tell, Daphne is kind of a spaz.

Aw, Daphne, don't be such a wuss. I'm just telling the nice folks out there about how silly you can be.

"Yeah, whatever...humanoid."

Daphne's doggie senses go a little nuts during springtime. I often catch her in the back yard just standing there like this, sniffing the wind.

The wind is full of interesting smells at this time of year. Or, so I'd imagine.

And I don't care what you suburban gardeners say, these just can't be weeds. They're so pretty and dainty and purple, like a newborn baby girl's brand-new pair of booties.

Besides, we have more of them than we have grass. I need to believe they're wildflowers, not weeds.

Plus, they're tasty.

At least, that's what Daphne tells me. But that's only until she goes inside and lies in the sun for a few minutes. Then she pukes them up all over my living room floor.

I don't use the term "spaz" for just anybody.