Here’s the problem with May: all winter long you sit in the doldrums of the year, weather raging outside your frosty windows and every day dancing to a slow rhythm. Winter is delightfully boring. And then May comes with her gorgeous weather and all you want is to be outside in it, planting and picnicing and instead you are inside because May is the terminus of everything. May should be like a Summer’s Eve commercial and instead she’s like standing in line at the Secretary of State. May is when you want to finish strong but you are pretty sure you’re not even going to make it across the line. May is having the dog lick the deodorant out of your pits while you clean up a water balloon someone brought inside. May is field trip forms that need to be signed and enclosed in an envelope with seven dollars so that you have to break a twenty at the gas station while you’re picking up gatorade for a field day in which no one wins and no one loses. May is teachers gifts all in a row on the dining room table and if anyone touches them you will kill them because you’re sure you’re forgetting someone and every spring you wonder if you need to do all the support people and you think maybe not but they gave so much and so you’re torn. May is last concerts sung by bleary eyed kids who stayed up too late because it was so light. May is graduation open houses, again with the gifts on the table and the killing. May is swearing you won’t discriminate between the graduate who worked his tail off and the one who basically just showed up every day and got the participation award because the only way to survive May is by getting everyone the same thing. May is dandelions in the lawn that sneer at you when you close the blinds at night and tell them for the four thousandth time that you swear it’s their bedtime; it’s going to be light at bedtime now until the fall. The fall is when the leaves FALL and you go back to school. No, right now is spring. Summer is next. No school in summer but you’ll still have a bed time and it’ll be light. every. night. that’s why we have blinds. I don’t know why the call it summer, they just do. Please go to sleep, for the love of Michael. May is registering for classes for the next year when you’re certain this one is going to kill you, so can we just wait? May is Sign-Up Genius’ by the dozens asking for filled water balloons and gift cards. It’s the month of Teacher Appreciation Week, when you have to send your kids every blessed day with something but because you are merely surviving this May, you hold up a box of tissues and a tub of wipes that you found in your pantry and say, “which one? Your teacher will love this, trust me.” May is pale, pasty legs sticking out of new shorts and arguments about wether they are too short and telling them that you paid twenty four dollars for the shirt they’re refusing to put on, which they said they loved and would wear all the time and if anyone questions wether the strap is two fingers wide, just get Maggie and show them. May should be white jeans, but April was white jeans because no one puts baby in a corner. Which means May is also dancing around the dogs, hands fending them off while yelling, not the white jeans! May is for signing the planner without even reading what is written on it because signing the planner is more than you’ve done all winter but we are finishing strong, remember? May is for dirty feet and being ok with all their showers consisting of throwing them in the pool and calling it good. May is for smelling like chlorine.
For all you who have mommed so hard, you are nearly there. A few more weeks and it’ll be June and she is over almost before she starts and for the lions share of June school will be finished and you will own your days again. Deep breaths, dear one. Harry and Megan are getting married in three days, so get your fascinators ready and forget for a little while about all the stuff you have to do before the last day of school. It’ll all fall into place. Or it won’t and summer will still come and by day 2 your kids will be SOOO bored and you’ll start a really long paper chain until the first day of school, when you will kill it for a good three months because you are a warrior. Well done. And I’ll be here all summer, adventuring with my people and helping Abe recover and telling you about all of it because
this is me being real.