I've wondered all week what I would write about…spring, Easter, egg hunts, new beginnings. All of these topics seem appropriate to the time of year. Our tulip tree has bloomed out; there are buds on the fig tree, and I received my first sunburn of the season. It is certainly spring, after a long cold winter and as always, I wanted to reflect on the feelings generated by warmer weather and an extra hour of sunshine.

I was thinking about it in the carpool line on Thursday as Aubrey hopped into the car and begin talking at roughly 90 miles an hour, before the door had even closed behind her.

"MOMMA! We had a PANIC at recess today!"

"You did? What happened?" I asked, somewhat distracted by brainstorming for this week's column.

"We saw a mommy bee poop out a baby bee!"

I jerked to attention. "Huh?"

"WE SAW A MOMMY BEE POOP OUT A BABY BEE!"

"No you didn't."

I mean, as my friend Kasey very wisely pointed out, the Discovery Channel can barely even catch that kind of thing on film with their million dollar cameras. What were the chances?

"OK, I didn't," Aubrey said, shrugging her shoulders.

"Really?" My heart leapt. I wasn't ready for this conversation.

"No, I was kidding you. We really did. I guess bees just really like to do it in the spring."

I gulped back some bile, turned up the movie that was playing in the backseat for my 3-year-old and her best friend, and asked, "Do what, Aubrey?"

"Poop their babies out! Gah!" She flipped her hair, rolled her eyes and left me to continue wondering how I would ever concentrate on writing.

I was preoccupied. There was no time for reflection on the way the trees were beginning to bloom as I caught Aubrey giving herself and Emma, my 3-year-old, a haircut with safety scissors. I did take a moment to appreciate the cool breeze that swept the tufts of white-blonde and strawberry-blonde hair away, so I didn't have to get out my broom. As I called to make hair appointments for both of them, I wondered if some little bird would be lucky enough to feather her nest with their soft curls.

I wanted to sit on a towel by my husband and talk to him as he planted herbs and turned over soil in preparation for planting our traditional backyard garden of tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers and watermelons. But I was busy stuffing Easter eggs and rushing around town to take pictures of my smiling daughters as they threw elbows and tripped their friends to try to find the most eggs. (Even though everyone would only end up with 12.)

On Friday I noticed a little swelling on Emma's lower jaw and made a mental note to "keep an eye on it," but once again we were in a whirlwind of activities and it was evening before I realized her jaw looked like she was hiding an Easter egg.

By Saturday morning there was no ignoring the size of her jaw so I got up early and took Emma to see the doctor. After a close examination, and a few blood tests, I received a phone call from the doctor with our diagnosis- mumps. I had a million questions, which coincidentally is the same chance you have of getting the mumps if you've been immunized, one in a million. Did we need to be quarantined? Did we need medicine? Did we need to go buy a vintage dress to match her Cindy Brady bangs and retro childhood disease?

The doctor laughed and assured me she was fine, the most infectious time was before she had any symptoms and it was such a mild case, he encouraged me to continue with our regular activities. My husband had promised to take the older girls to a movie this weekend, and with the doctor's assurance that we were not a public health risk, we decided to go ahead with our plans. I was excited to have some one on one time with my youngest child, and looking forward to having a quiet house to write in after tucking her into bed.

My kitchen was clean and my Easter lunch of baked ham, scalloped potatoes and green beans was ready to be popped into the oven. Baby Sadie was toddling around the kitchen while I wiped down the counters and put all the food away. She walked towards the room her older sisters share and suddenly began screaming and backing up. I spun on my heels just in time to see a large bullfrog hopping out their bedroom door.

Spring, it would appear has officially sprung.

(Robin O'Bryant is a former Mount Pleasant resident and mother of three. Read her blog online at www.robinschicks.com or e-mail her, zebandrobin@hotmail.com.)