A few days ago I threw on a tank top and walked my dogs around the neighborhood — fast — while pumping my arms and squeezing my butt and trying to warm my body up enough to convince myself that Spring had, in fact, arrived.

Okay, it technically didn’t arrive until yesterday when I stood at the edge of my neighbor’s yard, impatient dog whining on a leash in one hand and iPhone balanced precariously in the other, trying to capture the appearance of my favorite season of the year:

Despite my initial shivering, I did manage to achieve an actual sunburn along the strapline of my tank, which I found incredibly promising.

I’m not much of a tanner, per se, because tanning is just not something my skin is wont to do naturally. But its frigid pastiness is always happy to see the dawn of spring — to get that first light burn out-of-the-way in the vain hope of avoiding further damage in the summer — and maybe, if I’m patient with my sunscreen applications and scantily-clad time spent outside, I may actually reflect less light at the end of the summer than I did at the beginning.

The impending arrival of spring inspires optimism in me like nothing else. The vernal equinox is like my holiest of holy days, inspiring renewed faith that The Cold won’t last forever and a plethora of poor clothing choices.

Like wearing long shorts to Raven Rock State Park last weekend.

Justin wore shorts too, only he has an extra layer of fur on his legs to keep warm.

He loves it when I joke about his fur.

Our friends brought their twin babies, which is all kinds of badass.

And totally confirmed my suspicion that I might not be cut-out for that whole motherhood thing.

If they could talk, I’m sure the mutts would agree:

Today it’s only supposed to be 48-degrees, but hey.

I figure if I throw on a pair of shorts, crank up the heat, and sit directly in front of the window to soak up some of that glorious spring sun while eating mangos and making a list of plants I’m going to try not to kill this year, I can convince myself that it’s actually warm.

I might, however, have a harder time of this when we head to Minnesota next week.

Mind over matter, baby. Mind over matter.