You're again right around the corner and I just want to tell you candidly that I love you.
I'm not sure that I've ever professed my real feelings for you so publicly before, and I can't stand another year of you not knowing how much you mean to me.
This time of year, most of us are still slogging through slush and snow to pick up our kids at school. We're going stir-crazy and yelling too much.
You know, St. Patrick's Day, that we moms been through a lot in the past few months. Your close cousins, Christmas and New Years, haven't been altogether kind to us.
We spent the darkest months of the year baking cookies and shopping and staying up late addressing cards and planning parties and doing more shopping and then wrapping it all, while our kids were home from school bouncing off the walls and each other due to cabin fever and binging on sugar (our fault) and new toys (mostly our fault, too.)
Of course our intent was to simplify this year, but you know how it goes.
Once our kids returned to school we took down the Christmas tree and began to put our houses and our lives back together, only to be hit with the one-two punch of Valentine's Day.
For mothers, Valentine's Day means hours of supervising the addressing of class valentines by your kids, which is the elementary school equivalent of wiping a toddler's nose for hours over three to five consecutive afternoons.
But then it's over.
It's over, and the sun comes out, because I know that the next big thing to come around, beautiful St. Patrick's Day, is you.
You. With little to no expectations of me.
You. With no elaborate fantastical creatures on a shelf that I need to position in a creative new way every night for an eternity (we don't do this, by the way, we just feel guilty about it.)
You, who require no gifts to be bought, no celebrations to be planned, and no cards to be purchased, made, or signed.
You're everything a holiday should be.
I can finally be "the fun mom," and all I have to do is put a few drops of green coloring into the kids' breakfast in the morning.
My only real responsibility on March 17th is to remind everyone to wear something green, and even that's kind of optional.
I kiss the kids goodbye, they go do some shamrock projects at school, and we're done celebrating the best holiday of the whole year. Maybe we go see a St. Patrick's Day parade. Or maybe we stay home and go to bed early, and no one cares.
You get me, St. Patrick's Day. You really do. I can't wait to see you again.