As she does every year at this wondrous moment, our mom goes around reciting the following classic poem in her imitation Brooklyn accent:
"Spring is sprung.
Da grass is riz.
I wonder where da boidies is.
All da boids is on da wing.
My, my ain't dat absoid!
I taut da wing was on da boid..."
Indulge her, if you will.
FYI, There are many variations (and alleged authors) to this poem -- and apparently there is even a Cockney version.