Dear February.

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Dear February,

You’re the best worst month there is.

It’s cold.  I’m not totally complaining, because February is decidedly in the winter part of the calendar, but it still bears mentioning – it’s cold. And wet. And then moments of warmth come and you convince us that you are ushering in an early spring and we start to hope and trust again and then BAM. Cold is back. We’ve been sick almost the entire time you’ve been around February, with me hacking up my lungs and feeling like I was going to die the first half of the month, and James now starting to have that throat tickle that spells doom. February, we are so tired of being sick, and you are just the worst. Even if it’s not your fault, I’m holding you responsible. In fact, I’m also going to hold you responsible for the 4 hours I spent dealing with various Verizon customer service reps this week, each one less helpful than the last, each reducing me to angry tears of frustration that anyone who has ever tried to negotiate with an automated voice prompt understands. I know that has nothing to do with you, but that helpless feeling of exhaustion and frustration just seems so like you February. You are the worst.

But that’s not totally accurate. Because March is coming, and it will be ugly and even more hot and cold than you are, and you are at least still mostly committed to your season. You are the finale of winter, and that means still waking up to heavy gray days and snowy skies. It means those special quiet mornings that winter promises, afternoons that are chilly enough for tea and thick sweaters, cozy scarves and big bowls of soup. There is a stillness that comes with winter that I always miss when it’s gone, and you bring it in spades. I kind of love you February, love the slowness that winter demands, love the stolen snow days, love the bare trees against clear sunsets. I know that this summer the heat and humidity will have me fuming, the baby will take a lot of that stillness, and I will be so tired of endless sun and buzzing mosquitoes. I’ll think of you then February, and I’ll probably miss you.

I guess you are the best.

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4 Responses to Dear February.

  1. Tina says:

    I cannot wait until you write your first novel in a few years…

  2. Rach says:

    The musical version of your post: Micah Dalton’s Blame It on January. It will make you smile and dance a moment and then your heart will think again of June. It’s a sick circle.

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