In late January and early February, thousands upon thousands of small, purple crocuses push up in my parents' yard. There are other yards in the neighborhood with a few crocuses here and there, but not it's not the same. My parents' lawn is just covered in them. It was a most pleasant surprise the first winter we lived in this house.
The crocuses' blooming has always brightened a month which is otherwise extraordinarily dreary for me: February. If you're tired of the extra 3 coats, hats, and pairs of mittens that you've had to throw on just to take a walk, February is the worst. If you hate wet, freezing cold, February is definitely the worst. If you've ever had seasonal affective disorder, February is the worst. It's actually the same reason why I, contrary to most of my anti-sentimental instincts, actually love Valentine's Day. Because why not do something nice for people you love? It's better than sitting inside and crying.
But this year, I say happy February! Even more than the crocuses (which only make me happy for a few days), my two boys make me feel like my heart might burst, even during the worst month of the year, all year long.