Welp. Here we are, friends. It's that time of year. That time of year that is named, even in sports, for its absolute Madness. That time of year that makes teachers everywhere wanna tear up the scantrons and sail around the world. That time that Shakespeare's Soothsayer reminded us all to "beware the Ides of" in Julius Caesar. (that's right...I know some stuff.)
It's March, people.
MARCH.
BLECH.
I am convinced that when Paul wrote Romans 8:18-30 it was in March. Or Adar, or whatever. I have no theological or historical evidence to back this up, just Mommy's intuition. (Which is cooler anyway.) All that talk about "waiting in eager expectation" and the earth "groaning as in the pains of childbirth"... that is totally March! March is like the Transition Labor Month of the year. It's the time when you just wanna push already and anyone who is stupid enough to tell you to "just wait" is gonna lose an eye or a tooth or at least a large chunk of hair. UGH!
I hate March. I know I should be embracing it because it's part of the journey of Lent and all, but I'm coming out of the prayer closet. I'm tired of should-ing myself. I. Hate. March. As a mother and a teacher it has always been the bane of my existence. It's after all the fun holidays, everyone is sick of having inside recess, and all we want is to look out the window and see something GREEN for the love!!!
I always think of one particular March this time of year when my kiddos were really little that I completely lost it. I mean I've lost it sense then (ask literally anyone) but I mean LOSSSST it. I don't recall the exact details (that's probably good, my subconscious is blocking it out... ugh toddlers...) but I do remember it had been a terrible week. Luke had been gone a lot with all of his band stuff and the kids and I were stuck with nothing to do but terrorize each other. I think they were both potty training, and that's probably all we need to know. Oh no, it's starting to come back to me... (Aaaaahhh, drama re-triggered... Oh, the humanity!
OK, breathe...)
My poor Luke came walking in the front door at the end of that day, and I walked out before he could close it. No explanation, no nothing. I still wonder to this day what he thought about that:
What the- where is she going? Is she coming back? I wonder what's for dinner... *sniff* what is that awful smell?! Why is Max naked?! Is that her cell phone in the freezer?! What is going on?!?!
At that point back then I really didn't care about his reaction. All I knew was the I was a fuming Mommy-volcano of stress and anxiety about to completely let loose and I needed to get the heck out of there so little ears and eyes didn't witness all of the screaming, flailing, kicking and swearing that was about to erupt.
I got in the minivan, filled with carseats, sippy cups and goldfish crumbs ... and BOOM! I threw me a Mommy Tantrum. I had endured approximately 70 Jillion toddler tantrums that day and I had seen enough of them to know the epic ones. Y'know the really good ones that left nothing but terror and destruction in their wake. Hair flapping, arms flailing, feet kicking, voice screaming eyes streaming, nose dripping, yep. It was a good one.
And when I was done... I didn't feel any better.
Crap, what a letdown! After all of that lovely nastiness I got out of my system, the only thing left was the real problem. The fear that it would never get better. And that's when I put the traveling daycare/dumpster into drive and the next thing I remember I was in the parking lot of my dad's office building. I found my dad's car and parked right next to it, and I waited.
I felt like a little girl again, standing at the front of the school, straining on my tiptoes to see if that grown-up coming up the walkway was mine. My grown-up. My daddy. When I finally saw him walking towards me the control I had gained was lost again. I felt bad about it because I'm sure I was freaking him out. It was weird enough that his daughter was parked by him in the parking lot, let alone sobbing her fool head off.
Interesting fact. Most people think my dad is a scary dude. To those who don't know him well, anyway. His quiet demeanor and deep, stern eyes, set in a face that has gracefully and quietly aged, have a way of translating to the world "Don't. Mess. With this." I remember in high school that my friends used to be terrified of him, mostly because he was pretty quiet when I brought my buddies over and when he did speak he always spoke with this overly stern voice. I thought it was kind of funny, but to my friends...oh, man, don't make Mr. Walter mad. Nobody has to die today.
Truth time. That's right, I'm outing you, Don Walter. My father is quite possibly the most kind and gentle person I have ever known. The only other person I can think of that could ever rival him in this arena was his own mother, who I swear could have been a Disney princess in another life. When God made me He knew my melodrama needed an anchor to keep me from an infinite number of ridiculous events. So he gave me my Dad. And this day was a perfect example of that fact.
As he approached I quickly assured him noone was dead, and then we got down to business. He patiently sat in the passenger seat of my daycare/dumpster, patting my hand while I emotionally vomited all over him: "I can't do this, I'm losing my mind, it's too hard, I'm so done," ...etc.
Then, when I was all out of words, (it took a while) he looked at me and simply said:
"Beware the Ides of March, Lyssa."
Um..... what.
He then proceeded to remind me that a very similar thing had happened the year before around the same time (oh, yeah...) and that this was a very tough time for lots of people. It's right before the spring. It's always coldest and wettest and grossest right before the trees start budding. It's always darkest before the dawn. "Do not grow weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up." (Gal 6:9)
My dad sat in that parking lot with me for over an hour and we talked about a lot of things. Then he prayed with me, kissed me on the forehead and went home to my mom. I managed to drive home and explain to my poor husband that I was not crazy. I was just a tired momma who needed some encouragement. And I know I'm not alone in that one.
Over the years, my Ides of March have all been pretty similar. I hate winter. I moisturize more than I breathe. I eat my feelings. I long for green. And I seriously consider auctioning my children off on eBay. But at least now I know to "beware" it. And I also remain in the truth that April is on it's way.
And the days are just around the corner where I can finally use one of my favorite sentences of all time:
Go outside!!
... By the way, the next day after my parking lot tantrum I got an email from my dad.
It's so precious to me, I read it every year. Hope it brings you warmth as it has for me.
Like the flowers and buds we must embrace the awakening springtime with a cautious pace. Hopeful of what is coming but aware that it is not yet.
Behold the lilies of the fields; they neither toil nor spin. And yet the Father is pleased to grant them splendor. Welcome the grace of each new day.
Give us this day our daily grace.
Lead us not into the temptations of rapid pace.
May we be blessed with the joy of forgiveness.
And may heaven's will be ours.
Amen
