Sometimes, you just need fresh air.
And sometimes when you need fresh air it is pouring down rain outside and it's cold and your kids still have runny noses. But you know if you stay inside any longer you may suffocate. Or burst. (And I haven't decided which is worse.)
So, you go out anyway. You stand up to the weather, tell yourself maybe if their noses run more they'll get better faster (logical, of course).
You tell Mr. Evan that we have an umbrella and would he like to use it? And he's so tickled by the idea that he remembers his coat, but forgets he has no boots on. And in a hurried panic he looks at you in desperation, hoping you will support him and use your mom magic to get his boots on as fast as possible. You shove and shove, but that stinkin' boot which you know is one size too big and should be easily slipping on is refusing to do so. This can only mean one thing;
push harder. And when that fails, pull off the boot and see what the heck is going on with that thing. ...Markers. 6 of them to be exact. "Evan, there are markers in your boot!" You all find this hilarious. Even Anna. Perhaps she helped in the marker/boot scheme? And Evan grins and says, "That's so silly!" And you agree.
Finally boots and coats and hats have found their proper place on little bodies. And the umbrella is securely gripped in Evan's hands. You open the door and fresh air greets you, confirming that this was the best idea you've ever had.
You take turns with the umbrella holding. (In other words, you all get wet.) You have decided there is nothing in the world cuter than a soaked Evan, grinning from ear to ear, with little raindrops on his nose, holding his umbrella, and running as fast as too-big-boots will let him run.
It feels good to say YES. Jump in the puddles, splash as much as you can, if you want to make a snow angel in that pile of slush, go for it! You try to explain how gutters work and that worms are nice and will not bite or eat us. It's only been 20 minutes. Your arms hurt from carrying around a very heavy, very wiggly, almost one year old little girl who should really own a pair of shoes that fit, considering she took her first steps today.
And somehow you all make it back inside. Soaked. But energized and happy and well, what if you had never found those markers? Yikes. And you smile to yourself. And you don't even care that Evan soaked the carpet or that you left dishes in the sink. You remember you like rain. You remember how much you like your life.
