Hawaiian Day at School: Kiss My Grass!

I stood in shocked dismay as I began the usual welcome spiel for my captive audience of 4th graders.  "Good morning, Class," I smiled, "Today is Friday, March 1st..." My voice trickled off with sad uncertainty as I stared blankly across the room. "What is it, Mrs. Mosiman? Are you okay?" my sweet cherubs asked. They'd locked in their bets months ago and were surreptitiously checking their squares to see who had "diabetic coma" or "stroke" on this particulate date. But no. Even though my pulse was elevated and breath sounds shaky, my health was in its usual state of mediocre lethargy and imbalance. No...I had just realized that March had 31 days in it. Thirty-one days. March. Ugh.

March. The month where I feel moody. Melancholy. Murderous. Some might even say (quietly...where I couldn't hear them...) melodramatic. This is a month to be endured. Survived.

Unless you're my friend Erin. Then it's the month to be celebrated. Sensationalized. Wiggling enthusiastically in her size one and a half happy pants, Erin decided that every Friday in March should be a Spirit Day. Cue Jazz Hands and a flurry of sparkling glitter. I groaned. "Isn't it bad enough that soon I'll be stuffed in a pilgrim outfit for Colonial Days?" I complained. Erin insisted that grass skirts were slimming and the floral pattern of the shirts disguised stains while still being stylish.  This was well beyond my ken. I had a cardboard colonial village to construct. State tests to prepare for. Data analysis to analyze. School supplies to be ordered. We still didn't have a handle on converting an improper fraction into a mixed number and somehow I was suppose to slap on a coconut brassiere and embrace March?

Someone had to take a stand in the light of such hope and happiness. Someone would have to represent those who prefer to simply grit their teeth and claw their way through the Vitamin D-depleting, cabin-fever frenzy of March. I would use my winter-white, chapped jazz hands to slap some sense into this woman and her ridiculous ideas of making the world a better place.

Plagued by restless sleep, I was already awake when the reminder text came in early this morning.

Rachel:  ALOHA!!! Just wanted to remind you that it's Hawaiian Day!

Who uses that many exclamation points at 6 am? I'd hate to see how many Erin would have used.

Me:  F^*} Dress-Up Days...pardon my French.

Note the intentional non-use of exclamation points and the subtle inclusion of an expletive. 

Usually I get dressed in the dark but I was very intentional with my wardrobe this morning so, for once, I turned on the light. Brad squinted at me. "What's up with the Johnny Cash look?" he grumbled before burying his head under the pillow. "It's either this or kill Erin," I told him matter-of-factly before stomping out of the room. Later, my mood further darkened when I saw my normally sedate elementary halls had basically hawked up a cheesy Hawaiian luau. I drifted through the bright flowers and blinding colors like a thunder cloud. I responded like a rabid dog when someone tried to lasso my head with a lei. I was sickened by all the smiles. Channeling my best Ebenezer, I snapped at every positive remark with the same response: "You keep March in your own way and I'll keep it in mine."

I guess it just comes down to different ideologies. While March typically bears down upon me like a great wave of water, dragging me into the undertow, Erin grabs her surfboard. I can barely keep myself afloat in March yet Erin is fighting to lift others up. What an inspiration.

Dagnabbit, Now I'm back to wanting to slap her silly again. And just so you know that a small speck of light still exists in my dark heart, my black socks were decorated with sparkly unicorns. I'm not a complete monster.