Photo Credit Md Mahdi
t’s early for a
weekend
morning. The kind
of early that still feels like winter, even though the calendar insists otherwise. I’m sitting on Chicago’s lakefront, wrapped in a blanket over my parka, hood cinched tight, gloves clutching a thermos of hot coffee like it holds the last warmth on Earth. My son’s soccer game is in full swing, but my body hasn't caught up. The wind off the Lake Michigan is unkind. The sky is a flat slate gray—what passes for spring here until at least May. The ground is soggy from days of rain, and shallow pools of water have formed in the sticky, slimy mud, settling into ruts where cleats and boots have churned through what little grass remains. Parents like me are crouched in camp chairs along the sidelines, huddled beneath hats and hoods, occasionally peeking out to cheer for their people or exchange sympathetic chatter with fellow freezing team families. It’s communal suffering, Midwestern-style.
It’s April, and the spring soccer schedule has begun. After a few blissful months in the relative comfort of the indoor league, we’re back outside supporting our Midwestern children as they run around in shorts (albeit also with long socks and long-sleeved shirts layered under their jerseys) in 30-degree weather. We like to think we are raising hearty, gritty kids, but the truth is we all hope for better weather. And we are rarely rewarded for our optimism this month.
At halftime, I reach for my phone. No texts, no emergencies. I send my husband a quick update—tied at 2—and then peek at the weather forecast, which is more of the same: cold and gray, with a chance of worse. I turn to the guilty pleasure of Instagram and the algorithm, always eager to provide a distraction. There they are again, like clockwork: the dresses. One in a sweet, pale lemon curd yellow. The other in apple green, so bright it feels almost defiant. Sleeveless, airy, made for sun-dappled sidewalks and skin that’s seen more daylight than a wrist peeking out from a fleece-lined cuff. I don’t need them—not yet. But I can’t stop looking.
I