A Little Rain, A New Outlook

Every spring in the Mid-Atlantic involves a little rain.  But it's not the cold, dreary, gray rain of the winter.  It's the warm, gentle rain that brings all the shades of green into sharp forefront.  For me, as in my childhood, the spring rains feel inherently refreshing and invigorating.  They usher in flowers, and the nighttime sounds of summer.  They are relaxing.  Or, at least, they can be, given a screened window, a hot cup of tea, and a good book.

With small children, however, rain can mean being trapped indoors, left to my own lonely devices.  Play-dough, books and puzzles can altogether last a good hour, if I am lucky.  A good game of chase always lasts a while and burns some of that unquenchable kid energy, but boo-boos inevitably result.  Imaginary herds of dinosaurs will fight with prehistoric crocodiles and insects until a fleet of monster trucks roll onto the field.  Finally, I'll turn reluctantly to the television, where the dinosaurs are computer-generated.  And then we'll have lunch.

Time in the Little Badger universe seems to move in fits and spurts.  Some moments will feel as though I am moving in slow motion, changing a dirty diaper on a wiggly toddler while one Boy Badger yells about finishing his breakfast and the other refuses to put on his clothes.  And then other moments will pass in a heartbeat.  These are usually the quality time, where my heart is full and the children are happy.  On rainy days, especially, the slow motion seems to take over.  There is an underlying, nagging feeling that there is no escape.  On sunny days, we can always run outside.  On these, rainy, days, I must deal.  I must deflect the energy instead of engaging it.

Of course, we can always plan an outing.  Trips to the local PetSmart, or Ikea, or to a relative's house.  These outings can relieve some of the tension, and also provide Mommy with a way to get her Diet Coke.  But, for all these activities, I still feel somewhat trapped, like my hand is being forced, expectations and assumptions dictating the day.

Ultimately, given a warm enough day and a gentle enough rain, we usually end up outside.  I'll put the Little Badgers in their rain gear, pull on their boots, and fling open the front door.  At first the children will be reluctant, but then they will notice a particularly attractive mud puddle, or a bug crawling bravely along a slippery leaf, and they will venture forth from the porch.  When the Little Badgers come back inside, they pull off their wet clothes and muddy boots and wash their filthy hands.  I feel a twinge of anxiety at the mess, but the little pink cheeks and healthy appetite for a snack (even fruit!) make me smile.  Honestly, I will have found myself smiling more than I had expected to, when I woke up to the sound of raindrops.  The games of chase, the dinosaurs, the books.  All are worthwhile, true, moments.

So, at the end of the day, when rain has changed up our usual plan and sent us scurrying for the indoors, I look back and realize that my feeling of entrapment was mostly self-generated, and perhaps not surprisingly, self-fulfilling.  A sense of new awakening is appropriate this time of year.  I think the next time it rains, I will trade entrapment for openness.  And let the day proceed, with no expectations.