Your Monthly Momecdote, Issue 13: May, 2025

This blog post was originally published in my May monthly newsletter. Subscribe to receive next month's essay along with book and music recommendations.

I've never cared much for spring. I had pretty bad allergies when I was growing up in Northern California, which made it an unpleasant time to occupy The Body; now that I live in LA things aren't quite so atrocious, but it's still not a season I mark the way I used to when I lived in Chicago, where spring represented the very real rejoining of humanity and the outside world. Spring typically occurs without my notice, or has until recent years.

My son has gotten very into the Frog and Toad books by Arnold Lobel, which brings me a lot of joy. I know that generationally, we--The Millennial--are prone to fits of nostalgia, which I will admit was the main reason a special edition of Frog and Toad are Friends was the first book I bought for my son in utero. It's really designed for early readers, with the interior design being predominantly large, simple text and smaller, less eye-catching illustrations, so it wasn't really the right choice for a first beloved children's book, something I didn't know before I actually had a child. Now, of course, it makes far more sense that my son preferred brighter, more arresting picture books like the Julia Donaldson and Axel Scheffler ones. 

But one day of his own volition he asked to read Frog and Toad, and now he listens to the audiobooks on his Yoto constantly, and asks to fall asleep to his favorite stories (usually the one about cookies and willpower). Because of these books, my son asked to fly a kite, an activity that sincerely does make childhood come alive again. Mary Poppins, et al were right about that--with your feet on the ground, you're a bird in flight. 

For someone like me, for whom spring consistently means depression, it's nice to have the simple things.

The first story in the Frog and Toad books is called "Spring," and in the story, Frog bursts into Toad's house and drags him outside (Toad's response to this is a very relatable "blah") so they can witness the glory of spring together. "The sun is shining, the snow is melting!" says Frog, and though Toad goes back to sleep and tells Frog to wake him when it is "half-past May" (again, relatable), Frog instead plays a little trick on his friend, removing the calendar pages so that May is on top and pretending time has passed so they don't have to miss a minute of spring together.

What's wonderful about the Frog and Toad stories is how simple they are. They are sincerely just about a friendship, and specifically about friends passing time together doing what most people would think of as nothing. Most of the stories have a seasonal element--swimming in the pond in the summer, sledding in the winter. They're very simple, gentle stories about generosity and care, and with times being as they are here in clown world, these themes are just as valuable to me as they appear to be to my son. I've said many times that one of the best things about parenthood is that it makes childhood accessible again, and my son loving Frog and Toad has made me look at my world with fresh eyes, like I'm the one being dragged out of bed and asked to appreciate everything beautiful before me. 

Last month I went on the US tour for GIFTED & TALENTED. People often ask me about what tour is like, usually preempting some of the bad things (it's exhausting, yes, and it's very hard to stay hydrated) as well as the good things (yes, it's amazing to actually meet people in the flesh!), but one thing I don't talk about very often is how wonderful it is to see this country, and to witness how beautiful and unique its cities (because of course I am almost always in a city) can be. In Ohio, I marveled that it was 40 degrees and not a single person was wearing a winter coat because of course that's warm compared to winter. In Austin I was sweating balls after the terrible choice to walk to the bookstore, but being on foot let me appreciate just how alive the city is. In Kansas City things were gray and a bit gloomy except for the blossoms of spring--the bright, electric pinks and purples that caught my eye from almost every corner. New York City spring, humid and weird and unpredictable! Every region of the United States has particular foliage, distinctive landscapes, something I didn't really understand until I was the kind of author who hits the ground touring. And then there's returning home to Los Angeles, where every house in every neighborhood is eccentric and different and overflowing with wildflower blooms and the familiarity of peppercorn trees... 

This year, with spring, I found a love I have not felt in a long time. A romance with being alive that is sometimes very hard to come by. Spring! I get it now. Something returns to you. The sun is shining, the snow is melting! In the evenings, we will sit right here on this front porch and count the stars. This is again Frog's pitch to Toad, but it's mine to you, as well. Let's fly a kite, let's count the stars. What else are we even doing, if not perpetually falling in love?