There is a saying here in the Beehive State: If you don’t like the weather in Utah, wait 10 minutes. It is ever-changing. It is seemingly random. Always in a state of flux. It is a jealous mistress. (That last one doesn’t really make sense or apply here, but I like saying it.) As of last Friday, it is officially spring. Everywhere. Including Utah. But Utah doesn’t always seem to want to be on board. Some days it does. Some days the weather is lovely and breezy and fragrant. Like last Saturday.

Last Saturday was nice and we took Deac to the park down the street for the first time ever. (Until recently, he had thought that his whole life would be made up of an unrelenting, frigid winter.)

Then last night was Zoe’s first game of the spring soccer season. Soccer means spring, no matter what the weather actually feels like. And last night? It felt like the girls were playing soccer somewhere smack in the freezing center of Mother Russia. Because Utah likes to remind you that it is in charge of its own meteorological destiny. If it wants to freeze the shin guards to the legs of a bunch of unsuspecting 7 year olds then, by all things holy, it will do it.

Yeah, that’s the ONLY picture I took of last night’s game… and it wasn’t even one where she was playing. I was too shivery to take a lot of pictures, and I was pretty preoccupied with keeping the comforter secured over Deacon’s car seat so he wouldn’t get hypothermia. (She scored a goal, by the way, and her teammates mustered the chilly energy to lift her into the air and yell congrats into her frosty ear.) The girls had to layer long johns and sweats and sweaters under their jerseys. One freezing diva on the opposing team played in a fur coat. It was priceless. (Also priceless: Jachin hiding under a blanket the entire time, playing his DS… occasionally yelling out “Go Purple Dragons” like he was paying attention. I wish I would have snapped a picture of that.)

But the undeniable fact remains: soccer means spring, regardless of what Utah wants to think. Spring has sprung. Really. Truly. But try telling that to the shivering birdies in the neighbor’s blossoming apricot tree, or to my sad, chilly little peach tree that Jon planted in the back yard for me for my birthday. They, along with everything else in view, were blanketed with snow this morning.

But Utah, that jealous mistress, is supposed to see 60′s again by Saturday. 60′s. That’s garden-planting weather, guys.

It keeps you on your toes.

By the glow of the DS lite… err, light.

Around here, Saturdays are chore days. Each Saturday morning, the kids know that they have to complete their list of chores before moving on to the fun stuff (and the list of fun stuff options is growing now that the weather is warming!). The kids each have the same chores every week. They have them memorized. They do them in their usual order: most fun to least fun, saving the suckiest for last. Zoe — resident mother hen — likes to make lists of everyone’s chores, just to see that everyone is towing the line and equally unhappy, making sure that no one is trying to pull a fast one by claiming a chore is completed when in fact it is not. We have a white board for this purpose; so Zoe can make her lists and be as “in charge” as she can be.

Here is the white board from last Saturday:

Jachin usually breezes through his chores while Zoe can successfully drag hers out for hours and hours. In her defense, it does take longer to do a list of chores when you have to periodically pause to dance to Radio Disney, have a snack, count your hair bows, give snacks to your stuffed animals, sing in the mirror, dance some more… all the while checking the job board every five minutes to make sure everyone else is still doing their chores in a timely manner. It’s tiring, I’m sure.

Though Jachin is fast, it was Deacon who finished his list first:

He’s a real overachiever. This past Saturday was actually the first week his name made an appearance on the job board. No free rides for anyone. In this house, as soon as you turn two and a half months old, you have to start pulling your own weight.

Just a note: though the toilets got scrubbed in a timely manner, I’m not totally sure how well they were scrubbed (especially under the seats). Also, the dusting job in the piano room is a little questionable. If you come to my house, please just avoid these areas…

… it’s all in the name of teaching kids responsibility.