A New England Spring

Spring is generally greeted with welcome relief and happiness no matter where one lives. Who isn’t cheered by the sudden appearance of tulips and daffodils and the wash of tender green over branches that looked dead just yesterday? But in New England, especially after a particularly harsh winter, spring is met with something more like manic desperation. Think: how you’d feel at the arrival of a boat on the deserted island where you’ve been stranded, starving and alone, for months. Now multiply that by nine and add a splash of just-found-out-it’s-not-cancer, a dash of won-the-lottery, and a sprinkling of returning-soldier-surprises-kid-at-school. THAT’S how New Englanders receive spring.

This isn’t mere enthusiasm, but scientific fact. Humans of New England have adapted survival mechanisms that allow them to inhabit this area with its shitty climate extremes. It’s a known fact that there are 16-23 nice days in New England per calendar year. These days occur exclusively in May and September. On these occasions one can observe all New Englanders experiencing day-long euphoric, rapturous climigasms. Every other day of the year is too cold, too hot, too humid, or literally too dangerous to venture outside. (For real. People here die when it’s cold and when it’s hot. They don’t die on 16-23 days in May and September.)

As soon and the mercury hits 50° (44° for Northern New England) and/or the calendar is turned to April, the following can be observed from Connecticut to Maine:

  • New Englanders pack away their boots and coats and pull out their shorts and flip-flops (male) or skirts/capris and many pairs of foot-baring shoes (female).
    • It’s important to note that the New England male is unable to don long pants for approximately five months after his first time wearing shorts annually.
    • The New England female is unable to cover her ankles again until the first leaves begin to fall, at which time she excitedly buys new boots.
  • New England females can be found attempting to look like they’re not freezing in their inadequate denim jackets on the sidelines of children’s sporting events and while commuting to work, running errands, and, most of all, going out to dinner.
  • Dining establishments across New England set out tables and chairs on the sidewalks, which are quickly filled with short-sleeved clad patrons who didn’t realize that the moment the sun sets the temperature dips to 35, (like it did yesterday and will again tomorrow, once again catching everyone off guard).

Once the mercury hits 60° on three consecutive days:

  • New England homeowners buy mulch in a frenzy similar to how they’d buy bottled water at the onset of a zombie apocalypse.
  • Beer sales increase by 77% across the region.
  • Daily class attendance at the many New England colleges and universities drops by 48%.
  • People seen walking around with store-bought coffee are 100% replaced by people seen walking around with store-bought iced coffee.
  • New England females look at themselves in the mirror while naked and count the days until they will likely wear a bathing suit, thus:
    • Supermarkets report a sudden 90% increase in sales of leafy greens, carrots, and hummus.
    • Sales of running shoes, workout videos, and fashionable stay-put athletic headbands increase by 82%.
    • Starbucks experiences a sharp decline in customers who opt for whipped cream atop their skinny iced mocha lattes.
  • “How to remove a tick” becomes the top search item on Google for the month of May.

When temperatures finally reach upper-70’s perfection:

  • New England homeowners can no longer get the soil out from under their nails.
  • A visit to The Home Depot on a Saturday or Sunday takes no less than two hours and costs over $200.
  • Children are slathered with sunscreen before school. (They do NOT like this.)
  • Every New Englander must post the at least 3 of the following photos on social media:
    • a photo of a tulip or daffodil
    • a photo of their ankles/legs/feet
    • a photo of their kid’s first sporting event of the season
    • a photo of the view from their run, hike, or bike ride
    • a selfie of their new “ready for summer!” haircut
  • Liquor stores report a 55% decrease in the sale of red wine and a 74% increase in the sale of white wine. Nobody buys Bailey’s or port again until November.

As of the writing of this post, much of New England is experiencing temperatures climbing well over 80°. While mornings and evenings are still pleasant, sadly several of the year’s 16-23 nice days are already behind New England’s inhabitants. Ahead lies heat and humidity, gnats and mosquitos, and visits to the beach where the ocean is perpetually frigid. New Englanders busy themselves readying for summer – a time when they complain of the heat exactly as fervently as they complained of the cold all winter, get tans the shape of their sandals, and pretend to like gazpacho.

Spring in New England

Spring in New England

An Insomniac’s Night

11:04 PM: Oh. It’s later than I thought. I guess I won’t read tonight. Straight to sleep!

11:06 PM: Shoot. I sort of need to pee. But so comfortable. So cold out there. I’m just going to ignore it.

12:35 AM: I HAVE TO PEE! But so cold out there.

12:45 AM: (Finally gets up to pee)

1:15 AM: (Can’t fall back to sleep. It’s hot. Kicks off a blanket.)

1:34 AM: (Can’t fall asleep. It’s freezing. Puts on a blanket.)

2:02 AM: Fuck this. I’m still awake. This sucks. My feet are cold, my middle is hot, my shoulders are cold. (Arranges blanket to cover feet and shoulders only. This is not easy to do while keeping blanket on sleeping husband.)

2:27 AM: Why am I lying in this weird contorted position? No wonder I’m awake. I should lie in a way I actually sleep. (Rolls over.)

2:35 AM: Nope, not like this. (Rolls over.)

2:41 AM: Nope. Not like this. (Rolls over.)

3:00 AM: Why am I lying in this weird contorted position? No wonder I’m awake. I should lie in a way I actually sleep. (Rolls over.)

3:03 AM: Nope, not like this. (Rolls over.)

3:07 AM: Nope. Not like this. (Rolls over.)

3:15 AM: If I roll over one more time Tim will smother me with a pillow. How many hours have I been awake now? Ummm, numbers are hard. I think I slept for an hour. Tomorrow should be a great day. Go to sleep NOW!


3:18-3:40 AM: Goes through 7 different home invasion scenarios. If the bad guys do it just right, we might just get out of here alive. Chances of living through the night? Probably about 36%.

3:41 AM: What’s that car doing on our street? Who drives around at 3:41 AM? Killers, that’s who.

3:42-4:00 AM: How long would it take before someone discovered that all of us have been murdered? Who would find us? How long would it take before someone noticed we were missing and got worried enough to check it out? No one expects us at school or anything. Oh, Tim’s work! They’d call in the morning when he didn’t show up. Then… what? They’d call a few times. At what point would they call the police? That seems so extreme. Who would call my mom? How would all my friends find out? Maybe my sister would post it on Facebook. I guess that’s what you do these days. Cleaning out and selling the house will be a terrible job for my mom. My poor mom. Ugh. Who would buy a house that my entire family was murdered in?

4:01 AM: Shut your stupid thoughts down, Allison. This is dumb. Why am I lying in this weird contorted position? No wonder I’m awake. I should lie in a way I actually sleep. (Rolls over.)

4:03 AM: I have a great idea for a blog post. I should write it down. Or, I could just get up and go downstairs to actually write the whole thing. I’m awake anyway. But so cold out there. I should definitely write the idea down at least. I always forget. Nah. I’ll totally remember. 

4:07 AM: Wait, what was that idea again? It’s just out of mental reach. Fuck. Why am I lying in this weird contorted position? No wonder I’m awake. I should lie in a way I actually sleep. (Rolls over.)

4:08 AM: Holy crap I’m so thirsty. Think I might die of thirst. No wonder I’m awake. (Takes sip of water from glass on bedside table without sitting up properly, dribbles everywhere. Flips pillow.)

4:15 AM: FUCK THIS! IT’S FUCKING FOUR FUCKING FIFTEEN IN THE FUCKING MORNING. THIS SUCKS THIS SUCKS THIS SUCKS. Why am I lying in this weird contorted position? No wonder I’m awake. I should lie in a way I actually sleep. (Rolls over.) 

4:20 AM: fucketyfuckfuckfuckfuckfucketyfuckfuck

4:22 AM: (Gets up to pee.)

4:25 AM: This is serious now. Sleep dammit!

4:26 AM: Look at that bastard over there sleeping. What the fuck is his problem. Jerk.

4:27 AM: (Rolls over.)

4:29 AM: (Rolls over.)

4:33 AM: (Rolls over.)

4:34 AM: (Rolls over.)

4:39 AM: (Rolls over.)

4:42 AM: (Rolls over.)

4:45 AM: (Rolls over.)

4:46 AM: (Hears thud from daughter’s room.) WHAT WAS THAT? I should probably go check on her. Oh, she’s fine. It’s cold out there. And I’m finally feeling sooo sleeeeeppppyyyy.

4:46-5:05 AM: Goes through several different scenarios in which daughter dies. (Cries while imagining the horror of discovering her.)

5:06 AM: Fuck this. I’m going to sleep.

5:09 AM: OMG HOW AM I GOING TO SURVIVE TOMORROW? I’ve had an hour’s sleep. I’m going to die. And it’s school vacation. And it’s rainy. SHIT! I’m going to actually murder the children tomorrow. I am the worst mother. Fuckety fuck fuck. Fuck insomnia. This sucks. 

5:20 AM: I’m so tired. So so tired. I think I might be able to finally…

6:02 AM: (Startles awake) What was that? Oh, I was actually sleeping. Wonderful, beautiful sleep. I think I might be able to just….

6:49 AM: (Startles awake as Tim gets up to shower) Sweet sleep…

7:00 AM: (Startles awake as Tim gets out of the shower)

“What time is it?” 
“Really? Good I got some sleep.”
“No, not really. It’s 7:00.”
“Shit. I had the worst night’s sleep ever.”
“Yeah, I know. You were really annoying.”
“Sorry. Well, the kids were up late. Hopefully they’ll sleep in.”

7:05 AM: (Bedroom door opens) “Is it morning, Mama?” Sigh. “Yes it is.”


The mess, the whole mess, and nothing but the mess

I am many things, but naturally neat and tidy I am not. My habitat quickly matches the chaos of my constantly addled mind. Papers, pens, shoes, discarded children’s socks, toys, and my sunglasses seem to creep like ivy and move around of their own volition until my house looks like a windstorm swept through it. Keeping the main thoroughfares free of tripping hazards, and the actual cooking surfaces free of fire hazards, is generally enough of a steep uphill battle for me. With selective tunnel vision, the disorder of my house almost doesn’t bother me. Almost.

Like the burst of motivation from a New Year’s resolution fad dieter, I occasionally become tyrannically devoted to cleaning. I whip the house into shape, and if your beloved objects end up in the bin or donated, well it’s your fault for not taking better care of them in the first place. Then, like the fad dieter, I return to my bad habits and my mess grows ever fatter. Sometimes, like the poor resolutioner might do at the gym, I overdo it in my zeal for cleanliness and order. Instead of sore muscles keeping me from exercising again, I develop a relentless apathy towards the growing mess.

About six weeks ago Luke had a birthday party at home. Ahead of the party I cleaned the house so well that my husband accused me of hiring a cleaning service on the sly. It was a terrible mistake though, because I have not lifted a finger since.* If you’re wondering what a house looks like after six weeks without intervention, the answer is NOT GOOD.

Our walking paths are not clear of tripping hazards. In fact, this gigantic bear has been lying in the center of the living room for weeks, directly in the pathways between my desk and the kitchen, and the couch and the kitchen.

In the way

My husband is a good and patient man. If one of us cared more, our house would be tidier, but alas, neither of us care more than we don’t feel like fixing it. He has tactfully refrained from mentioning the state of our home.

At the same time our house waves the white flag to entropy, we have experienced a minor miracle. The Dollar Store helium balloons we bought six weeks ago are still aloft. They had enough helium for maybe six days, but to last six weeks? I’m tempted to bust out the menorah. Now stringless, they litter our ceilings and we are forced to wait for the helium to slowly leak from the surprisingly impermeable balloons.


The balloons have been there so long I no longer really see them. They’re just part of the house like the lights and fans. Yesterday, however, Tim brilliantly summed up the current state of our house: “I’m so happy that we figured out a way to also have trash on our ceilings.”

So, there you have it, folks. I’m the mom who makes you feel better about your messy house. The things I do for you.

*Confession: I have cleaned toilets and sinks.