If you’re roughly my age, you will remember a Broadway show called Camelot, and a rollicking song and dance dedicated to the month of May, when spring is brimming with verdant promise, love is in bloom, and all seems right with the world. If you’re younger, you [sadly] won’t recall the sight of Julie Andrews’ Guinevere and Richard Burton’s King Arthur dancing across the stage, singing in tribute to “the month of yes-you-may.” 

When I professed to her recently that May had become a frenzy of activity, my belle-fille*, a twinkle in her eye, nodded knowingly and informed me that mothers call the merry month “Mayhem.” 

Then I felt a bit guilty. After all, we’re not schlepping little ones to baseball games, First Communions, dance rehearsals, school fairs, and benefit 5Ks, in between finding time to do something special for Mother’s Day (not as simple as one would think in today’s Brady Bunch world) and hold down a job to put bread on the table. Nor is anyone in our extended family of relatives, friends, and neighbors graduating, having a baby, or tying the knot this month. Nonetheless, our “Mayhem” began a week or so early, with Easter, and has barely let up since. It’s clearly the busiest May we’ve had in years—something has been going on every weekend, with a few events, side trips, and errands for family and friends sandwiched in here and there. After cocooning much of the winter, it was a shock. Thankfully, it’s all been good.

I managed to finish a few books, but what I haven’t had time to do is bake bread or make a stash of piecrust in anticipation of the strawberries, blueberries, and peaches to come. Nor have I planted my herbs or annuals. Given our crazy weather, that’s probably for the best. The frenzy with a dance recital tomorrow, the floors scrubbed to a shine sometime in the next few days (though don’t hold me to that), and then, hopefully, a special treat (stay tuned for a report). At this moment, however, the rain is falling again and the roses, which do appreciate wet feet, are happily climbing the garage wall and getting ready to bloom. 

*French for daughter-in-law, and so much nicer a title than our rather icy and perfunctory one.