The countdown is on, people. The school year is winding down. The summer is ramping up. And we are in the thick of the crazy that is May. That time of year in which we have All of the Things with None of the Energy. It’s a perfect storm.
Which is precisely why I’ve coined a new phrase in our home. May is cray.
Y’all, it just slides effortlessly into so many conversations and situations.
Forget your kid’s school snack? Again? And maybe their lunch too? May is cray. (And for you novice parents, God has graciously provided us with those blessed things called LUNCHABLES for such a time as this. Jehovah Jireh.)
PTA hitting you up for the very last droplets of your blood, sweat, and tears? “Naw, I can’t. May is cray.”
Find your kids snoozing in Amazon boxes? Leave ’em. Because May is cray.
Kids sobbing on the way to school because their new backyard lizard friend has fallen prey to the circle of life? “Cool it, kids. May is cray! Also, take it up with your dad. I told him this was a terrible idea.”
You’ve promised your son ten bucks for hitting a rabbit with their marshmallow shooter just to get him out of the flippin’ house? (And $50 for a bird. And $1,000 for a whale. Don’t judge.) Eh, don’t feel bad. May is cray.
Your six year old daughter comes home with a tiny paper heart and a big grin on her face? Because of a BOY? A six year old BOY giving his heart away to your precious, not-so-innocent, but PRECIOUS DAUGHTER? Deep breaths. May is cray.
Y’all. We’ve got this. We are survivors. We can DO THIS. Just a few more weeks ’till the calm of summer rushes over us, and peace reigns once more.
Ha. HA. Right.