Monday, May 28, 2012

May Don't Leave

I don’t want May to end…

because it starts getting hot. The door blows open with a southern gush of air -an opportunity for heat and humidity to mug us and drive us out of our comfort zone. The heat primes itself through June with shorter bursts of intense microwave action – less prone from invading cold fronts, readying us for persistent waves through July and August. The sun is higher in the air, offering more time for heat from daylight in the 24 pieced pie, making it tough to get the kids to sleep at night – though they seem to grow accustomed to it.

because Memorial Weekend comes about. A time to reflect and think back on loved ones who left impressions in our head that don’t seem to fade despite their lack of being. Inconsistent weather on this weekend leaves one asking whether to picnic, whether to party, or whether to catch up on stuff… cleaning the cars out, sleep, gardening…

because of the hassle of changing closets from heavy to light - though increasing warmth makes it difficult to last through May. Traditionally, the khaki comes about, lighter, brighter, a little too approachable like an inviting glass of limeade - bright and cold but tart. Pack away the long sleeves, the sweaters, the jeans and make way for shorts, short sleeves, tank tops, muscle shirts, flip flops and other open toed shoes. What still fits whom? Who needs new? The boys socks have holes, can we get by without new ones until after summer?

because our youngest will keep growing. He can speak now and understands through disrupted communication and is napping less and wants to be outside with the older two. He will be that last one and soon won’t need diapers or that hefty toddler seat. He strives to keep up and to play, interact and fuss with and like the other two – who also keep moving on.

They don’t look back, they look out beyond May. They can’t wait for cool pool parties on hot days, special holidays and occasions like the Fourth of July, or to wear their swimsuits all day while blasting away with their squirt-guns.

Until they become us and start looking back - moreso than forward.

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