Hi. I hope this note finds you feeling better because it’s pretty obvious to everyone that you’re suffering from an identity crisis. There I said it. But I want to help.
I’m just going to cut to the chase. I know long winters. I graduated from PSU. People tell me there are colder places on earth, but I refuse to believe it. I remember the way the bitter wind whipped through Beaver Canyon or slammed me into submission as I trudged to class across Lot 80. You were part of that, March. I remember. Winter lasted at least 7 months in Happy Valley. At least. You hung on until the entire campus seemed to reek of desperation (at least I think that was desperation I smelled).
I wasn’t myself by the end. Day after day of gray cold made me feel detached and melancholy. Why would you want to be associated with that, March?
Then spring came. Remember that? Remember spring?
The minute the temperature hit 57.2 degrees, Old Main lawn was a sea of bikini-clad college students. In a sort of choreographed dance, girls stepped out of class and right out of their pants (and that girl wearing cotton “bikini bottoms” with the day of the week printed across the rear; we all knew those were unders, right? And we also knew it was not Tuesday). Maybe you’re a feminist? Maybe you held onto winter as long as you could to avoid seeing that. I don’t know, really.
The silliness didn’t bother me because spring came, and with it came a collective sigh. Did you hear that? Everyone relaxed the muscles that had been tightened and tensed against the cold, and we breathed easy. We basked in the sun (some of us clothed, some of us not). We exhaled.
Now that I’m a mom, I can feel that familiar desperation coming again. I can smell it in the house. I need spring, March. Choose spring.
Don’t get me wrong, I like winter. I like snow.
In theory. From a distance.
Now, I’m ready for it to end.
March, you’ve kind of been like the annoying big kid at the back of the bus–the one who is definitely too old for middle school; you’ve been teasing us. I get that you’re stuck between winter and spring, but tossing beautiful days at us that make us
and then covering them in snow the very next day?
And laughing? That’s wrong, March. It’s rude. It’s cold (see what I did there with the pun? That was for you, March.)
So now it’s time. Enough with the back and forth. Choose spring, March, because I need to exhale. Throw me a bone. This mom needs to open the windows and air the place out. I need/we need afternoons at the park. We need swinging and giggling and chasing outside. We need running with reckless abandon.
I need it.
We need it.
Thanks for listening. And I promise that if you deliver on the real sunshine–the kind that sticks around–I will tell everyone I know that you’re responsible for the awesome.
Desperate for Spring,
P.S. And if this is about that grudge you have with Punxsutawney Phil, then you need to take it up with him.