May is my favorite month.
Sure, I like to tell July that it’s the best and that I wish its days would last forever, but that’s usually just to butter it up so it gives me at least 25 perfect days of hot-but-not-too-hot weather, weekends at the lake with low humidity and no wind, mosquitoes that don’t care for the taste of my blood, and minimal tornado warnings.
Of course, now I’m more than a little bit worried that by publicly disclosing this lie I’ve jinxed July, but since in the past 18 years it’s never fully cooperated with me by granting all of my wishes at once, I’ve given up the charade.
MAY IS MY FAVORITE MONTH.
Suck it, July.
While May is easily one of the most hectic months of the year (if you have school age kids you get me … and may or may not be drinking while reading this), there are countless reasons that trump all the end-of-year bustle (i.e.; shitstorm) and the stress that goes along with it.
May means spring
Here in Minnesota, spring is short.
Seriously, don’t blink.
But by early May the entire state gets lime green—which, FYI, is my VERY FAVORITE shade of green—as millions of new baby leaves uncurl to welcome the blessed warmth that for the past five months we honest to God didn’t think we’d live to see.
The frogs that live in the wetland behind my house keep me up at night with their croaking—or what I like to think of it as, their joyful song of survival.
The birds go crazy with happiness that they, too, did not freeze. (Fine, most of them probably did and the hundreds I see out my window are probably new, but I like to think of them all as fellow, hearty survivors.)
The perennials start to show themselves by bursting out of the ground that was dead like two weeks ago—which is never not a miracle to me, btw.
The Ash trees begin to bloom and my allergies kick in and make me feel like I’m drowning for about two weeks, which to me is better than slowly freezing to death SO I DON’T EVEN MIND.
I get to eat dinner outside on the deck again without June and July’s pesky mosquitoes or death threats from tornadoes.
I move my office outside. Exhibit A:
It’s time to plant flowers again.
For those of you who do not live in a state that has the weather patterns of the moon (I actually have no idea what the weather patterns are like on the moon, but I imagine it to be insufferably cold ALL THE DAMN TIME which makes the comparison work IMO) you might not understand this delay, but here in Minneapolis the rule is not to even think about planting annuals until after Mother’s Day. Why? BECAUSE IT STILL MIGHT FREEZE AT NIGHT. Now that moon reference is making more sense, isn’t it?
May is summer’s eve
Over the past four years I’ve exhausted the topic of how I feel about eves (if you’re new here, let’s just say I have an uncharacteristic love for the day before a big event — much more so than the event itself) and May is the most glorious eve of them all—the eve of summer. Seriously, as much as I love it, I start to feel anxious and rushed by about mid-June, so the way I feel in May—when it’s all still waiting there for me—is glorious.
My unexpected May baby
Thing 2 was born in May even though she wasn’t due until July. It’s like God winked and was like, “Sure, I’m screwing with you — once again — by giving you a frighteningly premature baby, but hey! It’s your favorite month! YOU’RE WELCOME.”
Despite the obvious fact that I’d have rather kept her safe inside of me until July, May is actually the perfect month for this girl to have been born. She’s full of happiness and sunshine, yet much like the Minnesota May days when it’s 85° and sunny one day and 58° and raining the next, she can be a bit unpredictable (it’s okay, I happen to love the rain). Loaded with optimism, radiating personality, and on the brink of amazing things, this girl lives life like the month she was born.
This year her birthday falls on Mother’s Day, which she recently told me we didn’t need to celebrate because, in her words, “I’m all the present you need.” While it’s true we’ll be celebrating her all day on Sunday, you better believe next week I’ll make sure it’s all about me.
And by that I mean going to buy flowers ALL BY MYSELF.
I hope you are, too.
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