Ode to February

I think the month of February is nothing but a test.

After months of overindulgence, procrastination, and denial, February hits us like an iceball in the face. Thwunk!

Oh how it stings. Lesser mortals can't take it. Some slip into diapers and drive cross-country to ice their romantic rivals, while others try to dull the pain with drugs and alcohol, only to succeed, sadly, and dull it forever. Kids bring guns to school, celebrity pop icons shave their heads, and no matter how cold it feels outside, we can't escape the reality that the THE POLAR ICE CAPS ARE MELTING! THE POLAR ICE CAPS ARE MELTING! We're doomed.

Let's face it. We've all eaten too much, spent too much, and kicked every one of our New Year's resolutions to the snow-encrusted curb. Instead of berating ourselves further with laments of "What were we thinking?" we console ourselves with the obvious: chocolate.

And we feel disgusting.

So, upon seeing our miserable failures and fat and debt and continued gluttony, what does February do then?

It ices us - literally. Ice, snow, cold...if you listen really carefully you can almost hear it laugh. Ah ha ha haaaaaa.

Then it says, "Isn't it time for hot chocolate? With extra marshmallows???"

And then you're like, "CURSE YOU FEBRUARY!" - as you waddle into the kitchen to make extra-chocolatey hot chocolate with extra marshmallows, and you add whole milk just because - what the heck? - it's February.

Oy.

Both of my darling children were born in February, despite the fact that both of my darling children were supposed to arrive in March. As much as I was thrilled with my early gifts, I can't help but wonder if that rascal, February, was simply trying to see what I would do.

This February, within a ten-minute period, I watched in sympathy (read: total amusement) as my husband 1). got shocked by a "lightning bolt" of static electricity as he attempted to empty the vacuum cleaner canister, 2). discovered that our aging cat Rupert had urinated inside a box containing dozens of his ties (including some new ones), and 3). couldn't start the car.

One February, a few years ago, our furnace malfunctioned and nearly blew up the house. We were in Boston at the time, totally focused on our son's very scary eye surgery and follow-up. When we returned home after a nerve-racking week in a hotel, we entered a really hot house. Hot like a greenhouse. I vividly recall carrying my patched-up son over icy sidewalks to my neighbor's house, ringing their doorbell with tears streaming down my cheeks, and practically begging, "Can we come in?" Moments later, the fire trucks roared down the street. Then the police cars. Then the legions of volunteer vehicles.

A day later, after the heat was off, the pipes burst and flooded the basement.

Oh, those were fun times, February. I'll never forget you.

A few moments ago, our good friend stopped by with an "Oh dear." It seems the furnace had malfunctioned on his investment property in town and caused significant damage. After months of waiting for a buyer, they finally found one and had just accepted a bid. Just. As in, before...

"March wouldn't do this to us," my friend said, as we cursed February. "She wouldn't dare!"

But February will send us to New York City in a couple days, to celebrate my daughter's 8th birthday. Yes, we'll venture back to the American Girl Place (read: Gateway to Hell) for flower-shaped pancakes at brunch and harp music and painfully overpriced doll clothes. Oh, for a small fee, we'll also visit the "doll hospital" because, it seems, "Marisol" has a little problem with her head falling off. I hate when that happens.

Yes, February, it's true that March wouldn't do this to us.

But we're no sissies. Bring it on.