I think that this might be our most beautiful spring yet.

The temperature has evened out some and it’s closer to seasonal, but nobody is complaining about the cooler air and refreshing breezes. * This * really feels like spring, now. We had a bit of rain yesterday and some cloudy skies, bringing to mind the old “April showers bring May flowers” adage that we all learned in kindergarten as we painted paper umbrellas with loud, bright stripes and multi-coloured polka dots.

This morning the sun couldn’t be brighter. The sky couldn’t be clearer. And everything is finally starting to look green. The grass is standing a bit more erect than it was a week ago and there are buds on the trees. My tulips have popped up out of the ground, surprising me even though it’s been years since I laid the bulbs under the soil. They haven’t bloomed, yet…they still need a few more days of strong sunshine… but when they do, I assure you, I’ll be surprised all over again.

Every year the tulips keep their promise and bring some beauty and some renewal to my front flower bed.

I have sheets and towels hanging, in order, because I’m anal like that, on the clothesline. I love my clothesline. I love it as much as I love spring. I use it every chance I get and have been known to stand at the side of my bed while folding laundry with a pillow case hanging over my face, breathing in and breathing out that smell unlike any other. The smell of something dried outside. Nothing beats it. I even like the stiffness of a towel hung and dried on the clothesline. I like drying myself off after a hot shower with something less than soft.

And that smell. I hold the towel next to my face and breathe in and breathe out. A smell like no other. Nothing beats it.

But while we’re talking about sheets, let me tell you something I hate.

Now, I think that hate is a perfectly acceptable word as long as you truly despise something. It should never be used lightly. And it should also never be used to hurt someone. Therefore, the word “hate” doesn’t pop up very often in my vocabulary, seeing as there so few things I feel that strongly about.

But * this * is something that I truly DO hate.

Changing the sheets on the bunk beds.

I can’t think of a worse chore. I dread doing it, even if I have the promise of hanging the sheets on the clothesline when I’m done. I put it off as long as possible, I despise the task * that * much.

It’s awkward and cumbersome. The room is usually a mess which doesn’t help anything and the mess serves as a reminder of yet another dreaded chore…cleaning the toys and the mess of the girls’ room. It’s tricky to pull the top mattress down without crushing yourself and it’s even harder to put back up there. The bottom double mattress is no better, especially considering that Kate sleeps on the bottom and Kate has to have roughly 57 stuffed animals and dolls sleeping next to her in order to fall asleep soundly. And she hides things in her bed, I kid you not. And she remembers what’s hidden there, where it’s hidden and why she hid it in the first place so she always notices when you move shit around.

I hate changing the sheets on the bunk beds.

But what I hate even more is the fact that I am the only person who has ever done it. I’m the only person to do it now. And I do imagine that I will be the only person to ever do it in the future. At least until the girls are old enough to do it themselves, at which point I’m guessing they won’t be sleeping together in bunk beds.

But this post is not about the weather. And it’s not about the clothesline, either. It’s not even about the chores that I hate or the blasted bunk beds.

No.

This post is about my eyesight.

I am not blind.

The only glasses I have ever worn are sunglasses. And with the exception of the purple ones I have now, I usually wear cheap fuckers from the dollar store because either a kid gets a hold of them and destroys them or I lose them. The swanky purple ones I’m sporting this year were half price because Rock bought a pair of sunglasses for himself and the store was having a sale. The swanky, purple sunglasses were a total splurge.

And they are pretty killer.

I am not blind.

I have passed every single sight test with flying fucking colours. I can always see the very last, teeny weeny letters and numbers. I can always tell you which way the lines are pointing. I have always received a perfect sight score when I’ve been tested for my driver’s license.

I am not blind.

I have good night vision. My eyes adjust quite quickly to the dark, although I do like a little night light or something because, quite frankly, I am still scared of things that go bump in the night. * blush *

I am not blind.

I have fantastic distance vision. I can see the school bus pull out onto the highway from a side road long before anyone else can. I can distinguish that school bus from all of the others. I can see the yellow, “Support Our Troops” ribbon fastened to the front from far, far away.

I am not blind.

I have extremely good reading eyes. I never squint, not even at the smallest print. My eyes never blur when I’m reading and I never have to hold a book a certain distance from my eyes. Any old distance will do when I’m reading.

I am not blind.

I have watched while you thought I was looking away. I have stared when you thought I wasn’t paying attention. I have taken in the sight of you in the moments when you thought I was daydreaming.

I have watched you from behind, when you thought that nobody was looking, when you hadn’t even noticed my presence, yet.

I have watched you from the front, when you thought nobody was looking, when you hadn’t even noticed my presence, yet.

I am not blind.

I have looked closely at you, when your eyes are closed, when you are taking me in.

I have looked closely at you, when your eyes are closed, when you are sleeping and breathing deeply.

I have looked closely at you, inches away from your face, in those very moments.

I have looked.

And looked.

And looked.

I am not blind.

I have watched you navigating. Taking every one of your surroundings in. Taking nothing for granted. Plotting and planning your next move, your very next step, your next placement of your foot.

I have heard an imaginary, “click, click, click” sound as I’ve watched you walk. The “click, click, click” sound of your slanted stride. A silent sway. Like you hear music the rest of us are drowning out. Like you’ve got a soundtrack all your own. Like you’re in a constant state of dance.

I have watched you paying attention. Catching the things we other people miss. The smallest of things. The tiniest of things. And yet, the most significant of things.

Those tiny, significant things have become my own, too.

I am not blind.

I have been witness to balance nearly being lost.

What a beautiful reminder. That everything is fleeting. Even the ground we stand on.

We should all be so lucky.

If we were, we might not feel so fucking overwhelmed when a shift occurs in our worlds. If we were used to the ground moving, shaking, losing control…we might be able to distinguish the big splashes from the ripples. We might get to the bottom of the ocean a bit faster.

I am not blind.

I have felt love at first sight.

I’m not sure you realize this.

That was my moment, when everything was solidified. Turning around to see a passing face and know, in that instant, that that face was * mine *. All mine.

Nothing else mattered.

And I was not blind that evening in January.

I am not blind now.

I have looked closely, with magnified pupils, at the part of you that disgusts you the most.

The part of you that disgusted you last night.

And all of yesterday (even if you would have me believe it was only a “Mister” that prompted that on).

The part of you that disgusted you this morning.

And disgusts you now.

I have looked closely at every line, every stitch in skin, every pull and every ridge. I have looked closely at every turn in a different direction. I have looked closely at every bow together. I have looked closely at the difference in size and never found it remarkable. I have rubbed, with my warm hand, the tight, plastic like skin made smooth by hairlessness.

I have rubbed until I became scared of making you raw.

I have pulled my hands away, both of them itching for one more stroke.

I am not blind.

I have paid close attention to the feet in a perpetual state of being grounded.

We should all be so lucky.

To have feet headed towards our Earth every minute of every day. To have a constant outlet for our energy. To always be giving the Earth the energy it needs. To be a perfect vessel for the current itself.

Maybe if we all did, we wouldn’t struggle like we do. We wouldn’t find it hard to send the sun’s energy, God’s energy, the angel’s white light through us.

Down through our feet and into the ground.

No small wonder you’ve been so successful at this.

I am not blind.

And the rest…yes, I’ve seen the rest. The toes. Two always crossed for good luck.

The eye. A perfect reminder to take it all in, see everything around us, not only what is in front of us.

The nose. Never caught against skin with no place to go when you’re taking me in. A nose perfectly suited for your new favorite thing. A nose perfectly suited for that which I have wanted for decades.

I am not blind.

So, tell me now…what have I missed? What have I excluded from this post, tapped out in the noon sunlight while the crabby and teething baby finally sleeps and my stomach starts it’s incessant rumble?

Send me a list. Ask me again. I’ll gladly tick off each item. I’ll gladly answer a thousand and two times.

I will answer the same way every time. As many times as you need to hear it.

I am not blind.

I like what I see.

Scratch that…I * LOVE * what I see.

Somebody once said that love is blind.

I disagree.

Love sees everything.

And I am not blind.