March seems to be the month when the wall has been thrown up. I hear the dull thud of mother-bodies crashing into it with regularity. In spite of longer days and melting afternoons, there is a fatigued look in everyone’s eyes – like winter has taken its toll and spring is yet too far away to inspire optimism.
I effectively programmed myself through the doldrums of winter. The last few weeks have been a busy celebration of amazing things: musical theatre ended with a fantastic show and party, we took the big girls skiing to Kananaskis for two days and they rocked the mountain, I celebrated the 65th birthday of an amazing woman, I cradled a phone for two days while my “niece” was born, we got to spend a relaxing afternoon with friends… finally.
But this week I was looking around and red flags are flipping up everywhere: I haven’t written anything in a month, the compost pail is full of nothing but eggshells and coffee grounds, the porch is full of wine empties, I could build a fort with all the tuna cans in the recycle bin, I’m out of ground beef, the pull-up bar holds laundry and bathing suits from last week and, Sweet Jesus – we made cinnamon buns as a dayhome activity last week.
I swear I only ate one.
Time for a weekend off and this is finally it. I’m going to clean a bit and sleep in and try to feel like I’m actively engaging next week… even if it just means getting something in the crock pot before 10 a.m. and peeling some veggies. Perhaps I will also do some random squatting and whatnot.
The snow, though still falling from the sky, is slushy. There is sunlight at breakfast time. The icy sidewalks turn into puddles most late afternoons. In two months we will be seeing green.
Time to feel optimistic.