Yesterday afternoon I was chatting with a colleague and commiserating with her over how little we've been getting done these days. The work has been piling up, yet our energy and motivation seems to be grinding slowly to a halt--winding down, notch by notch. I'll sit at the computer and try and work, then look up and see the sunlight filtering in through the tall holly trees and oaks in the backyard.

It doesn't seem fair somehow that the first official day of spring should have come on the last official day of my Spring Break. I spent most of Friday in a funk, mourning all the things that I wanted to get done over break (sleep was on the list, and even THAT didn't get done). But it's hard to stay droopy for long when you're given the gift of a spectacular spring weekend; when you stand outside on the front porch to breathe in a little crisp fresh air on a Saturday morning, sip your hot coffee, and discover your favorite azalea plant peppered in little tight pink buds.

This past weekend was perfect--beautiful, cloudless blue skies and temperatures in the 60s all weekend long. On Friday, as Scott and I flopped, semi-comatose, on the couch, trying valiantly to stay up later than usual (because it was, after all, Friday), we decided that we'd set Saturday aside as a day of no worrying about things we can't change, no talking about where to send T. for kindergarten, no thinking about health insurance benefits (or lack thereof) for this and that, or workload woes.