It's not me, it's you
That’s it: I’m breaking up with Canadian February.
It doesn’t make sense, right? I mean, of all the months to loathe, why chose the shortest month of the year? Why pick on the month that brings the heart-and-flowery goodness of Valentine’s Day? In Ontario, February even delivers a long weekend in the form of Family Day. Here’s the rub: we Canadians have come to expect our long weekends to involve sun, beers and barbeque. Long weekends are not about waiting in line with 1000 other families for the ‘privilege’ of baring your translucent flesh at the public swimming pool.
It’s nothing personal, February, it’s just that you are so conveniently sandwiched between two months that aren’t as hate-worthy. January represents the start of a brand new year; the tabula rasa of months, with a little warm-and-fuzzy New Year’s Eve glitter still clinging to its hem. And March, well that is the month that ushers in the promise of spring. It heralds the return of bunnies and baby chicks, earthy smells and thick green stems clawing their way up through the supple earth.
What do you bring to the table, February? Your formerly fluffy, pristine snow is sludgy and dirty. The composter is stuffed right to the top. The kids’ winter coats are irretrievably stained. My minivan smells like goats have been breeding in the back. I have completely run out of ideas for packing school lunches. I am done, February. Done.
Some Canadians make the move to go somewhere warm in February. I think that is a calculated risk. For instance, this year you might have thought a Disney vacation was in order to beat the February blahs. However, you probably didn’t plan on having to wear jeans and sweaters on your ‘southern’ vacation. Nice one, February. Your evil is not constricted by the laws of physics or geography.
To be really safe, you can get on a plane and fly far enough south that Canadian February can't find you. I have done that in the past, retreated to Mexico where I was free to wear summer dresses and bare feet for a week. I will admit that I was happy with a cold Corona in my hand, the sun’s rays slowly thawing my body. I even continued basking in the glory of those summer feelings on the plane coming home. Then we landed.
February was waiting for me, patiently, steadfastly. I stepped into the parking lot and February pounced on me, reminding me that it wasn’t over; not by a long shot.
In the end, it’s just not possible to break up with Canadian February. It’s a little like the bad boyfriend you had in your 20s, the one that you just couldn’t quit. You invite him over for dinner and he proceeds to push the food around his plate, drink all the wine, ask if you have put on weight, and then expects to stay the night. And you let him because, frankly, you’re tired of being cold and it’s nice to have a warm body to snuggle up against while you wait for spring to arrive.
This is an original Canada Moms Blog post.
