The Fifth Season

The calendar may have four seasons, spring, summer, fall and winter, but all moms know there are actually five.  The fifth season doesn't have an official start date on the calendar, but it usually hits our house in mid-to late February, sometimes March.  We call the fifth season:  The Fighting Season.

The length of the Fighting Season directly corresponds to the whims of mother nature.  If we have an early spring, the Fighting Season is blessedly short, but God help us if spring is late to arrive because then Fighting Season feels as if it will never end.

We are full on in Fighting Season in my house.  We have been for weeks.  The calendar tells me it is spring, but the forecast only calls for snow, snow and more snow.  My boys are sick of snow.  They don't want to sled. They don't want to build snow forts or snowmen.  Snowboarding?  Forget it.  The amusement in winter and all its fun has lost its luster.  Instead, we shall all stay inside and bemoan the weather outside.  While we wait for spring, let's pick on each other endlessly, day in and day out, while we slowly drive our parents crazy.

I am not a weather person.  I do not watch the weather channel.  I do not check the forecast.  But in the last three weeks, I have become addicted to checking the updates of the ten day weather forecast, just waiting for the break that I know has to be coming.  It must come soon or I may lock my sweet children in the basement.

Fighting Season reached its peak last week.  After a day of squabbles and tears, I solemnly told my boys that I miss my "nice boys and their sweetness."

"Please tell me if you find them, my nice boys,"  I told them sadly.  "Tell them that I would really like to have them back."

Brennan looked at me wide-eyed and then said to his brothers, "I need to talk with you guys in the other room."

Aidan looked at him with questioningly, "So talk here."

"No."  Brennan replied.  "It has to be alone.   Just us."

So, off the three of them went into the playroom.  They shut the door behind them.  I pretended to be loading the dishwasher, but as soon as that door was shut, I scooted over to the door to listen.  (Don't judge me.  We all do what we have to do.")

"Listen.  We all need to start being nicer to each other."  Brennan said to his brothers.

"What?"  Griffin asked.

"Nicer. We have to be nicer.  We are making Momma sad.  When we are nice to each other, she is happy.  So let's make her happy."  Brennan announced with authority.

"Okay."  Aidan agreed.

"Okay."  Griffin agreed.

And all three of them marched out of the playroom with smiles on their faces.  I was back at the sink, loading dishes, but welcomed their three hugs.

The truce only lasted maybe an hour.  But it was a really good hour.  I am off to check that ten day weather forecast.  It may be snowing outside, but I swear I heard birds chirping outside this morning.