May, though modest in name, is a month of monumental exertion. It does not unfold so much as it surges—thirty-one days of converging obligations and emotional milestones. To navigate May requires poise, strength, and a kind of sacred stamina. Fortunately for all of us, mothers exist. And not only the mothers by biology, but all who mother—fathers, grandparents, stepparents, caregivers, godparents, educators, and neighbors—those who take up the sacred work of nurturing, planning, protecting, and praying.
Many have long referred to this time as the “100 Days of May,” and indeed it feels so. If ever there were a month engineered to test the limits of human coordination, it is this one. And if ever there were a population prepared to meet the test, it is the mothers of New Canaan.
Those who mother are the quiet quarterbacks of this season, orchestrating each day’s choreography with the finesse of a conductor and the endurance of a marathoner. It is they who balance the conference calls with costume creation, the carpools with cap-and-gown fittings. They are the reminder-writers, the schedule-keepers, the voice on the sideline urging one more stride. May is not survivable without them.
As schools wind down, expectations ramp up. Projects mount. Finals loom. Field trips multiply. In the midst of this, those who mother—whether working full time, part time, or full-heartedly at home—become the scaffolding beneath their children’s stress. They absorb the anxiety. They mitigate the chaos. And, still, they show up with grace for Mother’s Day brunch, pretending to relax while mentally color-coding the week ahead.
May’s tumult begins deceptively calm. The month arrives gently, adorned with blooming flowers and mild weather. It marks a convergence of conclusions and commencements, a pivotal point where school years wrap up, graduations abound, and wedding bells ring. The calendar transforms into an unyielding cadence of project completions, final exams, obligatory events, and unavoidable celebrations.
In our striving community—one known for its standards of excellence—it is worth pausing to acknowledge that even the strongest can fray. And no one is more vulnerable to that fraying than teenagers.
Too often, in our pursuit of perfection, we forget that the teenage soul is under siege. College pressures, social comparisons, unrelenting performance metrics—all intensified by the algorithmic tyranny of digital life—leave them gasping for room to simply be.
Let us say this clearly: high school students should not be living as if the stakes of every exam or essay are existential. They need room to falter. They need our presence more than our pressure. And most of all, they need grace.
May’s relentless march offers a powerful opportunity to extend that grace—to tell our teens, with word and deed, that they are loved not for what they produce, but for who they are. That a B-minus is not a moral failure. That missing a deadline does not define their future. And that asking for help is not weakness, but wisdom.
Life, much like May, is a series of sprints and recoveries. There must, however, be time for recovery.
To our New Canaan neighbors: take the breath May rarely affords. Look at your calendar—and then look beyond it. Ask not only what must be done, but what may be paused. In the race to arrive at June, don’t forget to witness May. Give yourself the same grace you extend to others.
And above all, thank the mothers—not just with flowers or cards, but with true, unhurried gratitude. They are the reason we survive this month. They are the heart of our homes, the memory-makers, the steady hands that carry us through.
As Rudyard Kipling once observed, “God could not be everywhere, and therefore he made mothers.” In May, this feels less like metaphor and more like divine logistics.
So here’s to the mothers. Here’s to the teenagers trying their best. And here’s to all of us finding, somewhere in this beautiful whirlwind, the wisdom to slow down, the strength to show up, and the grace to understand what truly matters.
