May Is The New December
Seriously. Just when you think a month can’t get any worse, sneaky May creeps up on you. After waiting nine months to get near the end of school, WHAM. It’s here and suddenly you’re like holy crap, I haven’t signed up for any camps and even worse, if it is the beginning of May, you are so invigorated with your impending freedom that you ponder the need for camps. You long for days free of making lunch before 7am and book bags that serve as the vehicles for menacing notes regarding your children’s less than perfect attendance. You imagine a summer of peace and quiet; dreamy glimpses from coastal magazines swim through your loving mind, two tanned boys reading together in a hammock as their sister listens cuddled amongst them munching an apple. Yes, the green apple with SKIN reminded me of why summer is not all it’s cracked up to be. Yep, that bite of skin told me this was not even close to reality.
It’s just that May is so awful, anything not related to school or end of year garb, can seem dreamy and idyllic. It’s like having the stomach bug to remind you of how much you take for granted and how good it is to just feel normal. Yep, that’s why May is the new December. Yes, the beginning of May comes in like a lamb and out like a crazed hippopotamus. Me and mothers everywhere are synonyms for the crazed jumpy and repugnant mammals. Yes, I have been to the zoo twice in the last two weeks after a five year hiatus; I managed to convince my older son to skip this field trip a couple years ago (hence the mammal synonym). Anyways, within two weeks of May first, I had been jolted back into reality with the many outings and activities that demand my physical presence. No, annual field trips aren’t enough, at least two per my three children. To add insult to injury, there are also additional good behavior trips. Lucky me and my well-behaved children. Of course I had signed up to man groups of children when the school requests tiptoed into my rested mind at the beginning of the month and I signed away my last remaining days of freedom.
If school requirements weren’t enough, then I was reminded how this conjured up “year end” applies to all additional activities as well, dance recitals, karate exhibits, piano concert, art show, awards banquets, Sunday school picnic, youth group swim party, and it goes on and on and on. The more kids, the more stuff and the older they are, more likely to have more responsibilities BUT the field trips are the salve in your wound. The days of everyone trampling out the door by 7:30 am are ticking down and I’m being punished. No more nuking my coffee and enjoying a few moments of news (ok, the Today show) before I take my youngest to therapy. Mothers of teenagers may have sports banquets but I’m talking about real free time being soaked up at locations that leave even me wanting to wash my hands and hide on my phone. Good thing I quit smoking.
We have one week left from today and I feel like someone who has been warned of a tsunami. My phone calendar resembles the novel and extra wide expanse of beach which has revealed every possible task and place I should be. I’m trying so hard that then I forget big things, like shoes on my way to school. I torture myself too. I could not begin the summer without finally scheduling and actually showing up for Amos two year old pictures. If I waited until the Fall, he would be three and that is just embarrassing. As I write I am reminded that I have promised I would pick the pictures today, my deadline was six hours ago. See? A competent PTA president turns into a something that resembles a whirling dervish. Also, if someone annoyed me in December, I am ready to pummel them by May. Yes, May is the the new December but the saving grace is that ends in summer, not credit card bills. Hello, June.
Photo compliments of Jeremy C. Groves.