Who's Laughing Now, Crazy Month of May?

10:13 AMHeather

"Quadruple booked Monday night. Gotta love May!"

That was the Facebook status of my friend Lisa.

Here was my response:
"No, I don't. And you can't make me. I do NOT gotta love May...cause I don't...I don't love May...no matter what you say."

I think it was Big Mama (or was it Jen Hatmaker? I get all my pretend BFF's whose blogs I read confused)... anyway, she said that May was the new December. Chalk full of activities and commitments and such.

And it's true. It's so very true. I've learned it over the years. And I know it full well. This year, I even tried to gear up for it. Every year, I try to consider the ensuing battle of the calendar to come and I carefully plot out my plan of attack. This year, I carefully considered where I could volunteer and how to pace myself and I intentionally left margins on my calendar.

And guess what?

To no avail. Or so it seems. 

Because May is still eating my lunch.

Here are the evil ways of May, for any of you who are not in throes of losing your ever loving mind over the madness that is May.

(Forget March Madness, BTW. Whatever. That month includes a full week off. Madness my foot).

May includes approximately 4,679 papers from school. When you have three kids at three campuses, about 1,257 of those papers are something you are getting in triplicate. It's a form about the district's new blah-blah-blah. Or a "hey, you don't have enough to look at, so can you read and sign this form saying you know about our new policy on grading periods?"  And of these 4,679 forms, about 800 of them are simply information for you to just know. You know, tuck in the folds of that brain that is already overloaded. 

And the rest? Well, the rest are things you have to fill out and sign and return. And 80% of those are to include a check or money attached.

Field trips. Field days. Graduation parties (Because 5th and 8th graders graduate. Back in my day, all you got was a big old pat on the back and good riddance and good luck at the next school. Not some all day at the bowling alley/laser tag/arcade celebration). 

There's success ceremonies and swim parties and district art exhibits and end of the year pep rallies and pre-registration registration. 

(Not to be confused with actual registration. Where you get to verify your residence at three schools, in three different ways. Just in case you tried to pull a fast one as you drove from the elementary school to the middle school 2.1 miles away).

Oh, and in these pre-registration registrations, you better be on your toes, whether your brain has drained in May or not. Because there are actually now levels of PE in 6th grade. And each course is a different track, but if you take advanced science then you MUST take advanced math. But that was for you to figure out. Even if you never took advanced anything.

Parenting. It's like it's very own doctorate program.

Don't forget those high school registration days. Where your kids get to play their own version of Hunger Games when the online scheduling opens up at 7 am. Kill or be killed. Snag the class you want as you text all your friends to confirm the right period and as the server for the online scheduling keeps refreshing because, you know--EVERY LAST INCOMING FRESHMEN IS DOING THE EXACT SAME THING.

May. For my kids, it's like a big old-- hey kids, finish strong! Here's some parties and ceremonies and assemblies and a few movies to watch because I'm outta ways to try to teach you people.  But don't relax too much because I'll sneak those final exams in to keep you on your toes.

For me, it's like the big rush and flurry of activity you go through to get ready for a vacation. Summer seemed like this great idea of lying around and relaxing and taking it easy.  Except for one thing. If you didn't need a vacation before you began to prepare to go on vacation, then you certainly do need one now that you are in the midst of said chaotic preparations for that vacation.

See, I'm onto you, May. I know you are the death of me. And I know that no matter what I do to try to be one step ahead of you, I will not succeed. 

I thus accept my defeat. I concede. You will best me. Every year. With your forms and requirements and online surveys and pre-registrations and last minute financial needs and a calendar that gets quadruple booked (despite having only 3 kids).

So go ahead. Have your fun, May. Spit me up and chew me out. As I stand over here with my plastic smile and my best effort and my phone posed to catch every last photo of every last [LAST] event of the school year.

I can endure. I can and I will hang on until June.

Then, I will lie around on a raft and float around a pool with a little umbrella in my bottled water and a calendar with a big fat NO WHERE TO BE.

Who's laughing now, May? You'll be history and I'll get my revenge.

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