and, hey there, March? Um, don't let the door hit you on the backside on your way out.
Have never been so happy to see the beginning of April.
March.... well. March is just about the worst month on the calendar. It is the monthly equivalent of Tuesday in the work week. (My antipathy for Tuesday - every single blessed Tuesday - is a whole other post.)
I tried to work it, really I did. We did 'in like a lion, out like a lamb' weather experiments, coloring pages, and data graphing. I enthusiastically cooked up some corned beef & cabbage and made rainbow with a pot of gold fruit salad for St Patrick's Day. (I drew the line at green milk, however. I wave the Not-Irish AT ALL flag here.) We learned about kites, and wind, and planting seeds, and everything early-spring I could come up with. We even threw in a Star Wars birthday party in there!
The weather remained resolutely cold, wet and miserable. All. Month. Long.
So here's a recipe for great mental health: take one person with Season Affective Disorder, who just barely makes it through winter on the best of years, and give her an Achilles injury that equals zero physical activity all month. Then have her start a writing class that is truly exciting, but oh-so stress inducing. (Me: I am having a little performance anxiety about all this. Husband: Is this the part where I say 'no kidding'?) Add in a little crisis at school requiring some principal-meeting and parent-teacher conferencing, and coat it all with a thick crust of mud.
Mud everywhere. Glommed onto shoes, coats, gloves (because oh yes, we still need our gloves!) - in people's toes, in their hair, in their ears.
So yeah. I greet April with open arms, screaming and running headlong into it like a teenage girl reunited with her boyfriend who was like, totally away for like, a whole week.
I've got, what, eleven months to ignore March, right?