Natalie Whatley

I’ve mentioned before that April is my favorite month. Believe I even said that April in Texas is about as close to perfection as it gets, for me anyway. I love it! But those who must live with me pretty much suffer a month-long embarrassment.  Ever watch the squirrels this time of year, bouncing around and obviously feeling frisky?  That’s me – a little nutty, and I’m not talking acorns.

When the time changed last month, I came right out and admitted that my internal clock housed one crazy bird – the cuckoo. And the arrival of the cuckoo is a sure sign that spring has sprung. It’s true that I, stick-in-the-mud first-born that I am, get a little demented in the spring. Call it spring fever, but I think my children would fully agree that April just likes to make a big old fool out of me—long past April first.

See, April brings out my inner child. I like to drive (look up momma-mobile in the dictionary and there will be a picture of my vehicle) with the windows down, hair blowing in the breeze and the music loud enough to drown out my singing voice or more specifically, lack thereof. Oh, and I like to keep the beat by playing the drums on my steering wheel.  Even worse, I like most of what the kids today like in music. My children appreciate your sympathy. Scooter rides shotgun unabashedly, provided I roll his window down so he can look cool too.

I guess I should be careful and try to at least maintain some decorum since my face is plastered here and my name identifies other family members.  Nah!  That’d be boring. Besides, I ran in to a rather sweet gent last week who’s known me for a good while and he said, “There’s a girl who writes in the newspaper . . . favors you quite a bit.”  I chuckled and told him that “girl” was me. And bless his heart, (Yeah, I’m a southern gal, and no, feminism did not teach me to be offended by the “girl” title or much else for that matter) anyone who refers to my tired, aging-rapidly-through-teenager-raising self as a “girl” puts a little spring in my step. But I digress, the point is: Maybe people will see me acting a fool and not make the connection. I mean it is possible with the humidity low and all; it’s amazing how different I look on a good hair day.

The sunshine mixed with a breeze: I’m an addict.  I have to soak up all I can before it gets sweaty hot. Then there’s that minor detail of the kids being home during the summer. The backyard isn’t nearly as peaceful once school lets out. I know, sunbathing is a big no-no now, and yes, my very youthful-looking mother, Linda Rowe, has cautioned me against its destructive forces. But I’m a tad hard-headed. A girl has to have at least one vice.

I could stand a whole year full of Aprils, but then again I guess it’s so special because it’s fleeting . . . sort of like the childhood of my inner child.  

 © 2009 Natalie Whatley

Tags: April, spring