Firstly, it's because it's May, that jolly month of singing bluebirds, budding trees, and 48 bazillion end-of-year school events all squished into four short weeks. I am moving so fast that I think I may have actually bumped into myself in the garage this afternoon.
Secondly, ever true to my tendency to tackle ridiculously large projects all at the same time, I decided to start the FlyLady system this month. (If you don't know about FlyLady, you'll just have to click over and see–suffice it to say that it is a wonderful system which will ultimately make my life much easier, but today? I'm just as overwhelmed as I can be.) To make matters more complicated, what started as a momentary flash of frustration over my inability to find the cough syrup has launched into a huge, existential crisis about how I manage my time and stuff and home and family, and I'm trying really hard to break some old habits. I'm thinking the first habit I should break would be launching existential crises during the month of May.
Thirdly, my firstborn son did something Very Grown Up this past weekend–something wonderful and right and something that required a significant amount of Letting Go on my part. And remember how I've told you before that parenting older kids gets easier than it is in those difficult preschool days?
I take it back.
It's not easier.
When they hand you that baby in the hospital, you have a vague sense of the sleepless nights ahead, and the temper tantrums that may loom in the next couple of years. What you cannot prepare yourself for is the reality of letting go, that it is not something that happens overnight when they leave for college–it happens in tiny, exhilirating, difficult, glorious small steps. They don't tell you that you will get whiplash from jumping from profound fear to profound pride all in the same milisecond. They don't tell you that it is possible to hold your breath for an entire weekend.
And when you hold your breath for an entire weekend, it turns out you're tired at the end of it. Thrilled and happy and proud and wiser, but wiped out beyond words.
Fourthly, as long as I'm dishing out the parental angst, I watched my sweet little daughter dance in her first recital this weekend, on a giantic stage in a massive auditorium. My girl was confident, sparkly and beautiful, even if she did perform the first half of her routine facing sideways, toward the wings. Attemping to send telepathic messages to a tap-dancing four year old ("Face front, baby! Face front!") is exhausting.
Fifthly…well, there's not a fifth reason, actually, except that it bears repeating that it's May, and I am tired.
Here's lookin' at June, and a nice long nap.