A warm day in early March makes us all think that perhaps we’ve turned the corner, that maybe we’ll leave behind all the cold and dark of winter for the year now and begin thawing.

Granted, as someone in South Carolina, I can hardly complain about the cold, about true cold, but this year, we’ve had a few doses of true cold, of temperatures in the single digits, and we’re all tired of it.

And so today, we got out as often as we could. Before the Boy’s nap, we headed out to play Red Light, Green Light, one of the Boy’s favorites, even if he doesn’t quite understand it. Call “Red light!” and he trots up beside whoever his opponent is and only then stops, most often with a smile.

Afterward, we head to the backyard for some exploring. That usually, no always, means wandering and wondering about the two backyards, ours and our absent neighbor’s, going to all the same places we always go — our little hideouts, our little lookouts.

The trees, we discover during our walk, are eager for spring as well.

After the exploring, it’s time to swing. Those two activities are the staples of our backyard adventures, with the order changing. Yet there has been a change in the last year: the Girl has taken over our role of pushing the Boy. But in true Girl fashion, she turns it into a game in and of itself. When the Boy accidentally kicks her, she moves into position to let him do it again — after she fusses just a few moments — and then begins performing. Only a slideshow can do the performance justice.

After a few minutes, it’s time to switch. And that reveals another change: the Girl is far more patient these days than she was a year ago, a month ago. Well about some things.

“Is it my turn, Daddy?” she asks.

“No, let him swing a little longer,” I reply, and she does. But eventually, it’s time to be fair. She gets in the swing, her legs flopping over the edge, and the Boy heads off to find things to toss into the drainage ditch we call our stream.

He prefers sticks, but I collect them all to divide between our fire ring and our smoker, the better going to the latter.

By and large, I manage to convince him that spiky balls — Sweetgum seed pods — are far better for tossing. They carry farther, and the far more numerous.

The Girl, though, takes out her Explorer’s Notebook, which is also her Drawing Notebook, and begins making notes of all the “extraordinary” (a new favorite word) discoveries we made, all the poisonous trees and plans, the Wild Cat, the imaginary creatures — all our near-misses.

After the Boy’s nap, we head to a local park. We were going to go to the small park by the small local airport, but the Girl was eager to go exploring more, somewhere new, and the Boy, to our surprise, was eager to change our plans.

We head out for a walk, making our way to the observation deck.

And back.

We end with some time on the playground.

Some things just don’t change.