Tuesday, March 1, 2011

An Open Letter To February

Dear February:

I don't understand you.  We'll talk about the stupid way you spell your name and your measly twenty-eight days in a bit.  But the mind games you play, the ups and the downs, let me address those now.  You began beautifully.  Sure, snow would have been nice, but you brought the sunshine.  If I didn't know you so well I'd of thought you were March (or April.  Meeeow!).  You're blushing, but it's true.  Blue skies, crisp mornings, sunny days, it was glorious.  We hustled to our tractors and farmed like it was late spring.  And we got a lot done, so thanks.

Then you had to go and hand out a round of RSV to both kids and a sinus/ear infection to Grady.  And having Grady cut both eye-teeth at the same time?  Come on!  I'm sending you a bill for the chair legs he chewed up trying to ease the pain.  Still, you let the monkeys off easier than last year (you were a real prick in '10), and we appreciate it, really.  Grady's even named you "Kitty," and that's an honor only a step below "Mama."

But, I've got to admit, you sucker-punched us with our first school Valentine's Day party.  Who knew candy was the new expression of love and friendship?  Okay, I knew, but I didn't think that knowledge was mainstream yet.  Dylan's still not over her sugar-high -- here she is at her worst:

Just when I thought you might be cool and we could hang out, you hit me with the never-ending flu.  And you mocked me with it.  You took all my sense of taste the day before Regina and I went to our favorite restaurant, then gave it back, for one night only, during dinner.  You let me recover just enough to see Ryan Bingham in concert, then kicked me to the curb when I started bragging how much better I was feeling.

Nobody likes a complainer, so I'll be positive.  You taught me a few things that I'll always carry with me.  Things like: I can successfully blame fever-sweats on a faulty heating system in my classroom, or codine + Nyquil = crazy dreams, and most importantly, don't cough and pee at the same time.

So, goodbye, jerkface.  And here's a little advice for next year.  First, bring some snow, it's winter, remember?  Next, buy a couple of extra days to fill the calendar like a real month and, finally, drop that stupid silent "r," it makes you seem pretentious.  You just might fit in after all.


The Eastside Gang

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