One of the best things about spring hereabouts is the week when there is a carpet of tiny blue flowers along the street behind ours. Whole yards are filled with them. They pop up almost over night, linger a few days, then the grass overtakes them and they disappear for another year.

Every year I swear I’m going to take their photo. And every year until now I haven’t managed. But today I went out between rainstorms and captured them.

Now maybe I can send their picture to the ag extension office and ask what they are. No one here seems to know — and we have avid gardeners in this neighborhood. I’d think they’d know, but they don’t.

The rest of spring is not far behind. Three days ago the first leaves on the lilacs opened just a smidgen. The daffodils are halfway up, their yellow heads, though, are still pretty tightly closed. Another week and they’ll be splashes of bright color. They almost always coincide with my oldest son’s birthday. His flower, we used to tell him when he was little.

This time of year, the still mostly bare trees with buds growing larger every day, the muddy ground with shoots just poking up, the grass just turning more green than brown reminds me of a first draft. There are hints of what is to come. There is promise, potential. There is also the chance of a killing frost.

Flynn and Sara had their killing frost last week when I threw out a quarter of the book. Well, really all the book that wasn’t totally rough. But that’s because they couldn’t survive the way they were. They’d been a hothouse plant over the winter, coddled and pampered for months. But when they had to stand up out in the cool windy world, they didn’t make it. Not the way they were. It happens.

The stronger plants — like the stronger stories — survive. I’m thinking this one is going to make it. I just hope it’s blooming by the first of May!

Keep your fingers crossed. Send showers (not cloudbursts) and warm (not baking) temps our way. And hope that my life this month is not full of distractions.

As far as romantic comedies go, this Hugh Jackman – Claudia Karvan production (written and directed by Antony Bowman) is chock full of inspiration. I wrote about Paperback Hero on the Pink Heart blog this week. So check it out there, too.

This fanvideo from YouTube is a great compilation of fun bits from the film. If you’ve seen it you’ll remember. If you haven’t, there are a few “spoilers” but they’re worth it! Besides, you know how it’s going to end.

On the other side of the wall, Sara has finally come to life. She’s been like this wooden (or some days, granite) statue who just stood there and said, “I’m a nurse because I couldn’t be a doctor.” And I thought, yes, of course, that makes sense.

But in fact, it didn’t. Sara isn’t a nurse. She doesn’t have the temperament to be a nurse. Neither do I. I don’t have the temperament to be a doctor, either. I don’t know if she does or not — and we will never know — because motherhood intervened.

So she’s not a nurse. What is she? A Certified Public Accountant.

Go figure. Who’d a thunk it?

Certainly not me. But learning it made me smile because I thought, she’s finally become real. By which I mean, she’s finally unpredictable.

It’s been that sort of day. I had conversations with half the world today (and got damn all done in the way of writing, but it was worth it). Two of the conversations I had were with a couple of my sons.

With one I was discussing methods of learning and in particular learning math. This was a boy who hated math. His eyes glazed over at the very thought. He quit taking it as soon as he could. And now he is doing long range financial analysis and commercial property analysis and learning the ins and outs of real estate tax law — and loving it.

With the other son I had a conversation about computers. He has discovered they exist. Not only that, they have the potential to make his life more rewarding financially as well as more interesting. So he is building a website and compiling content and calling me up every few hours to tell me stuff that I should be doing with mine. And he’s no doubt right.

And I rejoice in all of it — my two sons and Sara and all the rest of the people in my life who do not fit neatly into pigeonholes of expectation, but who confound and amaze and delight me by proving that they are so much more and enjoy so much more and can do so much more than they (or I) ever imagined.

Love it when those walls come down!