One of the great things about growing up is seeing the cyclical patterns in your own life.
I’m old enough to know that May is a tricky month. It wraps me around and throws me things and by the time I hit June 1st I feel proud of myself for making it.
That’s all. If I made it to June, I’m golden.
This year it was no different. Yes, there were some really great moments and I hope to get my brain together enough to write them down here for posterity (or really just for my memories since I’ve been awol for so long now I’m pretty sure my friends have given up wondering what was in my mind.) But there were also some rough times. My brain is shot — I even missed the kindergarten Mother’s Day tea, one of only two mothers in the whole class who didn’t show up. It was on my calendar. It was in Blue’s folder. I obliviously worked through the afternoon and it took me two days to convince that poor soul that I was very sorry.
The final week of May ended in a flurry of one-thing-after-another. My children were unrecognizable entitled monsters toward whom I felt incredibly resentful, I was incapable of getting anything together, organized, or complete, and Blue ended the month puking which always brings me back to that May four years ago when we were in the hospital with him.
The final hours of May were so eventful they deserve their own post. Which I shall write now because I’m supposed to be doing the banking. The only thing worse than the storms of May is the banking.
Now that it is June my body is emptying all that stress and pain and exhaustion. I napped on the floor yesterday. I’m sleeping in. I’m recovering.