You saunter in looking all pretty and sunshiney, all fresh cut grassy with flowers blooming everywhere, but behind your back you’re toting yards and yards of rope that you will use to hogtie, hamstring, and incapacitate us, so that by the time you leave, we are deranged and disheveled.
I don’t like you, May.
We think when you arrive we can celebrate surviving another school year. We forget EVERY DAMN YEAR that you have 2,013 more obligations for us. There are the end of year choral concerts (my personal favorite was when 9 schools performed in one night), the end of year plays (you feel pressure to attend all five performances like the really good parents, but don’t because you have a job and stuff).
A word about end of year major school projects. Yes, we’ve known about them for a long time. The problem is we don’t give a crap anymore, which makes coordinating a meet up between four families for a donation drop off super fun (make that EIGHT families after my son brings home another scrap of paper with random phone numbers scribbled on it).
No, I will not purchase any more markers/glue sticks/poster board, so help me God, and I will ground you if you ask again. This edict is reflected in a project using dried up markers, blue glitter glue, and copy paper, because it’s what we have. “We were lucky to have a pencil growing up, so stop whining that it looks bad.”
You are sneaky, May.
I never prepare for you. I should treat you like Christmas or Thanksgiving or Easter or the kids’ birthdays. I know they’re coming, so I put thought and planning into getting ready for them. You? You hide behind your perfect weather, your little downcast daisy eyes blinking, “Who me? I’m just a sweet little month, the last full month of wonderful Spring.”
Sweet, my a–. You stand between us and summer like a hulking, massive, muddy hill we are forced to climb. In church clothes. With smiles on our faces.
Just last week I saw a mother at a school event and we looked at each other and the only thing I said was, “May.” Then we exchanged a knowing nod (to be clear, ‘May’ was said with the same tone I use for the most blow out of the four letter words). We both looked like crap, because you pull us in 20 different directions and make us so tired that putting on lip gloss or brushing our hair are things we will resume in June.