The Longest Month of the Year

Don't let the calendar fool you. Anyone who lives anywhere north of Miami can tell you that contrary to the long-held belief that February, because it has only 28 days (excepting leap years, of course), is the shortest month of the year, for all practical purposes, it is the longest.

The poor football fans are left with nothing to do. Baseball fans are in eager anticipation of the beginning of their season. March madness is not quite here. The sun doesn't shine for weeks on end. The kids are climbing the walls wanting to play outside, but it is so cold they can't last long. The stores and shops are full of bikinis and shorty-shorts while we look at our own pasty white skin and fluffy winter bodies and cringe. Some cling to Valentine's Day as a special holiday, when in reality, most barely tolerate it or even scorn it because we have figured out it is a floral/greeting card induced holiday that just isn't all "that".

If February was any longer, I don't think we could take it.

In our little corner of the world, it hasn't been much better. In the beginning of the month, Thing 1 closed the car door on his thumb. It was ugly. Thankfully, xrays revealed nothing broken, but he couldn't play guitar or piano for two full weeks. Well, we all think he may have been able to, and he may have just milked it for all it was worth. No one knows for sure. Then I got a kidney infection. No one had seen Mom stay in bed for that long, let alone take a nap eight times each day. The bright spot in it all was Disciple Now weekend, where we had a house full of tenth grade boys and college dudes as leaders. They ate a lot. God moved. It was our February time to get out of our schedules and comfort zones and watch God work, which is always fascinating and enlightening. Oh, and sometimes exhausting. Thing 1 and The Big Girl participated in other homes, and we missed them. In the week following when I was to clean and catch up laundry before The Big Boy comes home from school, every spare minute has been at the hospital where Hubby's father has been for nine days now. He went in last week because the eye doctor noticed some abnormalities that led him to check BP. After spending a couple of days in ICU trying to get his BP under control, he was given some shocking diagnoses that led to surgery this week. We are praising God that he is doing well and we are amazed at how God orchestrated the whole thing to discover what was wrong before something really bad happened.

This weekend The Big Boy is coming home. The Things are participating in the Music Festival which has them such bundles of nerves that emotions are raw. The laundry in the laundry room is roughly the height of The Big Boy, and I doubt it gets much better upon his return tonight, but I don't care because I need a hug. Because, you see, as I sit typing this, the message light on the phone is blinking next to me and I know what it is. The soccer coach is letting me know when we first get to sit out in sub-zero temps watching kids kick around a little white ball.

And there is still a week left in this never-ending month.