Isn’t it amazing the things kids find amusing? My three year old thinks the rain outside is the most interesting thing in the world. Actually, I am coming to believe that it’s more the use of his umbrella that is so endlessly fascinating when it rains. We just ran the few steps to the car, drove to the bus stop to pick up my eight year old daughter, drove back home and then ran the few steps back to the car. This whole operation would have been so much simpler had both of my children just LEFT THEIR UMBRELLAS AT HOME!!!!!
Instead, as I’m trying to help my son get in the car, I have to spend an extra thirty seconds wrestling the umbrella away from him and then another 10 to 15 seconds closing the doggone thing. Needless to say, I got soaked, as did the interior of my car. My son remained obliviously dry.
Then, my daughter comes from the bus to get into the car. She says, “I can’t get my umbrella to go down!” Rain is pelting into the car from around the edges of her umbrella, as well as dripping from the sides of her umbrella onto the previously dry upholstery of her seat in the minivan. I sighed, watching the beige fabric turn a dark, shiny, wet brown beneath the watery onslaught. I climb across the seats to help her, waiting for her to unwind the handle of the umbrella from her wrist. Did I mention the water coming into the van as she’s doing this?
Finally, she gets it unwrapped from her arm and hands it to me so I can close it. Naturally, an extra dousing comes from the closing umbrella, further soaking my jeans and the car seat. I slide back to my seat, and she climbs in. I faintly feel as if there’s some justice in the fact that my daughter is now also soaked, despite having used the umbrella to get from the bus to the car.
Once we make the drive back to our house, pull into the driveway and shut down the car, I ask my son, “Will you get out on this side, so you’re closer to the house?” In typical three year old fashion, he shouts, “NO!” He follows this up with gales of laughter as he watches me get out of the van and huddle through the rain to the passenger side of the vehicle to help him out.
When I open the door to help him out, he insists that he must be the one to open his blue umbrella. So, I hold the closed umbrella for him as he climbs out and wait for him to grab ahold and push the button which opens it. As it opens, another spray of water splatters my face and clothes. I sigh again.
I close the door to the van, lock it up and then run for the door. My daughter is waiting under the overhang with her battered umbrella still closed. She is nearly as wet as I am. My son, on the other hand, is gleefully splashing in even the smallest of puddle between the car and the door, swinging his umbrella around. He’s quite happy with the rain pelting down on his head and on his umbrella, he’s thrilled with his soaking wet feet. As he gets to the underhang, he pauses in the spout of water that is draining off the roof. He giggles as the stream of water hits the top of his umbrella and then sprays all around him. It sprays all over me and my daughter in our unprotected corner beside the front door. I shout my son’s name, and reach over to pull him away from the spout of water. I take his umbrella, despite his protests, and shake droplets off of it. I leave it open, setting it down on the sidewalk underneath the overhang of our roof. There’s no chance it will dry until the rain stops, but at least the water on it will stay outside!
Once we’re all bundled into the house, we have to take off our shoes and leave them by the door. All of our shoes are soaked through. We wipe our wet feet on the rug beside the door, attempting in vain to dry them before we walk on the wall to wall carpeting. My son cackles as he points at my wet hair, rain-pelted tshirt, and my jeans which are dark and heavy with water from my knees down. My daughter doesn’t look much better and we both go to our respective rooms to change. My son? Well, he had shorts on and his hair is buzzed close to his head. He thinks the umbrella fiasco was all a fabulous adventure rather than the damp exercise in futility that I found it.
