I make peace easily with 11 months of the year.
I hold a great grudge against February.
December holds the wonder of the holidays. January is a blissful for hunkering down, reading in front of the fireplace and trying out new soup recipes.
March hints at the promise of Spring. The snow melts at least once in April, and in May I can start planting my summer garden.
Which leaves us with February. The "F" word as far as the calendar goes.
There is nothing in February but misery. Who honestly out there enjoys Valentine's Day? Or President's Day?
Let's not even mention that rat bastard groundhog.
I have had enough of being cooped up. My kids have 3 months of pent-up energy. The lure of outside play is lost when the windchill hovers at or below zero.
My kids have gone bonkers. Evidenced by one of my 6 year old sons, who is standing in his own puddle of URin, smack dab in the middle of the kitchen floor, screaming. All because I said, "No playstation after dinner." So of course, let's just pee to show your control over your own life.
The child's been majorly off-kilter for the past two days. His brother, Mr. Radling, is floating around the house, all shiny and glowing as he gloats his good behavior in front of his brother. The tables are usually turned between those two, and Mr. RADling is milking it for all its worth.
Seriously, who lives like this?!?!
I'm tired of blaming insecure attachment, or RAD, or PTSD, or impaired cognitive functioning. For the next 28 days, I'm blaming February.