I hate February. I really do. Every other month of the year has something to offer. Lovely scenery or holidays or wonderful occasions. The change of seasons. Campfire to fireplace, garden to harvest. Except for February. Nothing happens in February. No anticipation, no holidays of note, no new beginnings. February just marks the continuation of a winter that isn't likely to abate for another solid month, at least in my part of the world. It's the month of sameness. Where January is the tired, happy sigh after the holiday meal, February is the leftovers. February is a hard month for me. I realized recently that maybe February is hard because its sameness lays bare my sameness. These days of being a mother of young ones and a caregiver to even more young ones are marked with a startling amount of sameness. Sometimes, I think of my days as an infinite series of the tiniest steps. There ar...
Stay right here, 'cause these are the good old days.