March is a Fox, Start to Finish

Forget the lion and the lamb, March is a trickster. I've known if for all of my birthday-planning life. Ever since the year I fancied my celebration of me, just shy of the first day of spring, a day for daffodils and garden parties. It was no fault of my eight-year-old self, for the second week of the month was balmy. We donned shorts after school and played tag in the backyard. My mother pulled the weeds from soft soil. "Open the pool already!" we all cried.

"Could I have an outside party? With sprinklers and popsicles?" I asked my mom. She hesitated out of pure wisdom. Years of experience taught her that there was no way the sun would still be heating a 70 degree day on March 18. I resigned myself to bowling, movies, and slumber parties--all things indoors.

Today, I ran with middle schoolers who shed layers from the warmth. My youngest jumped on the trampoline. My husband took the dog for a frisbee sprint. Spring had arrived, anyone with their eyes open would claim. That is, until we looked at the forecast. 

"A rainy, icy mess," and maybe even snow are on the horizon. Oh March, I know you too well.