Bit by bit, drop by drop, flake by flake. Winter is losing.
My kids have full-blown spring-fever. They take turn forsaking mittens, hats, coats, common sense. They run laughing up and down the road, throwing off their jackets.
Bring it on, March. We're ready for spring. Until then they'll find their mittens when their hands get cold and they'll come in for hot tea and a snack at 2:00. Then back out they go (without coercion) into the mountains of thick, wet, melting snow.
2010 was the easiest February I can remember. I got outside and walked or played nearly every day, I maintained my joy and sanity, and for the first time I can remember, I knew that February would end. And it did. And now that it's March I am delighted to announce that my pants still fit. (Something that was not true last March.)
I think my issues with February go back to my childhood. As the days got longer I expected spring to arrive. Each February I waited patiently for the snow to melt and the daffodils to spring up. But it never happened. I think only now I'm realizing that February is so not spring, and I'm dealing with it remarkably well.
But that's all old news. It's March. March! And I can hardly sit still to wait for the daffodils to arrive.