I like rain.
When I can be inside.
I guess I actually don’t mind walking in the rain, except that around here, the getting-ready-to-go-out-in-the-rain is nearly as bad as the getting-ready-to-go-out-in-the-snow.
The umbrellas, the boots, the hooded jackets.
And then coming back inside…
The wet umbrellas, wet boots, wet jackets. And the inevitably wet floors.
We never seem to have enough umbrellas in this house. I buy them, every year, and they break, every year. I suppose that could be due to the opening-closing-opening-closing-opening-closing. (Why is that fun?)
This morning, we walked to the bus stop, Ella and I, sharing an umbrella, because she broke hers. It’s nice, walking slowly with her, holding hands, talking in the rain.
At the bus stop I see the kids, all of them standing there with their umbrellas. Except for my two children, of course. My two children have decided to spin and twirl and open and close and open and close and spin and twirl their umbrellas. Sigh.
I tell them to stop. Then Henry approaches behind us. I sometimes hate the rainy days for him. He has to wear a hood now so his hearing aids don’t get wet (because, surprise, he broke his umbrella). And then he can’t hear through his hood. It reminds me again that I need to learn to sign so that I don’t have to yell for him to understand me. And that he needs a new umbrella.
When the bus comes, I am handed two wet, dripping umbrellas, because my children don’t want to take them to school.
My feet are wet.
The bottom 4 inches of my pants are wet.
My jacket is wet.
Everything is wet.
Henry, Ella and I trudge back inside. I tell them to wipe their feet on the mat and take their shoes off right away.
I figure my next job will be to grab an old towel and mop up the wet that the two bring inside because they will certainly forget to take their shoes off even though it has been less than 10 seconds since I asked them to do so. But this time, they actually did what I asked them to do.
And then, I stand in front of the window. And I like the rain again, in spite of all the wet I feel.
The lichen transforms into a bright seafoam on trees that range in color from moss to charcoal to dark chocolate.
It is gray, and cool, and such a perfect contrast to the warm yellow lights of my kitchen.
Now “Olivia” is on the tv, and Ella is hiding behind the couch. She is playing with William’s ds. She knows she’s not allowed. I can just barely see the crown of her head above the back of the couch. It makes me smile. The sneaky is part of her charm.
On the fridge are 6 sets of ACC Tournament brackets. The Man informed me this morning that Ella was the only one that got all the games right yesterday. Mm-hmm. The two year old.
A nerf football just flew across the room and hit my window. (Can someone please tell me how many times I have to say “no throwing the football in the house” before it takes effect?)
“Give me the football, Henry” I say.
The washing machine spins and the dryer tumbles. Steam rises outside the window, and the rain falls.
We have an errand to run, so I will throw in another load of laundry when this one is done, and then head out. And then I will come back home to this house where life feels warm, and dry, and good.