I hate winter. Actually, I don't mind winter until after Christmas. February is, by far, the longest month of the year to me. Spring starts this month and there seems to be no end to winter. Blah. Blah. Blah. I feel blah. The kids feel blah. The house seems to be much smaller than it was last fall. The animals aren't too interesting anymore. Crafting is blah. Cleaning is blah. The kids are sick. Again. So we can't leave the house. Again. And even if they were all well and we did leave the house, they would get sick. Again.
I want to move. I want to see my tulips and daffodils. I want to turn my enclosed porch into a sewing nook. I want to open the windows. I want to take a walk. I'd like to worry about getting a sunburn. I want to yell at the kids for tracking mud into the house. I want to use my fancy steam mop to clean up all of the tracked in mud. I want to eat fresh food. I want to see the look on Tillie's face when she holds a worm. I want to complain about allergies.
Seriously, if it snows in May again this year I might just lose my mind.