Each year I welcome you with high hopes and expectations. After all, the celebration of one of the most momentous occasions in my life–the birth of my son–awaits on your arrival. And that celebration alone is enough to forgive you of all your other faults. I’m usually willing to overlook the constant overcast sky and rainfall. I’m a homebody and I do like the excuse to stay in and read a good book. Plus, you are usually gracious enough to allow for a few days of bright sunshine and blue skies.
Even still, you and I know we don’t live well together– not for very long anyway– so we’ve set limits on the length of your stay. (If I recall correctly, last year we got on so well we extended your stay by a day). Not happening this year, February! Not only did you swoop in with your cloudy mood and rain-on-your-parade attitude, but you brought with you some uninvited and unruly guests: Cough, Cold, Fever, Sniffles, Ear Infection and Impetigo. It’s enough that these bullies have to harass by husband and kids once, but to go at them for round two and round three?? We very nearly missed the birthday celebrations (one of your only saving graces) because of you and your thugs.
So while you have yet to dare attack my physical self, you sure have been messing with my mind. It’s hard watching loved ones suffer! And do you have any idea what it’s like to be holed up in the house for weeks on end against your will? Even this homebody has had enough.
It’s time to move out, February. March is moving in and she and I have all sorts of outdoor adventures planned for the family.
You have until midnight.