There are some days where, who knows for what reason, I wake up with a little extra bounce in my step. Ironically; rainy days. Stormy days. Dark skies that mask the actual time of day all day long. Pounding rain, warning you to stay inside, or else you are destined to look like your newly blooming hydrangea. The threatening weather just makes the little glories of “home” seem more obvious, and with a grateful heart, I curl up in an old quilt……and plan.
It’s disgusting how much enjoyment I get from planning.
Lists. Check marks and a good felt-tip pen. The little rush I get from COMPLETING A TASK on time. As a stay at home mom of four, this simple event is a luxury I relish.
The kids seem to feel a rainy day contentment too. They have been self-entertained with fairy wings and a mini-picnic basket for 45 minutes. Its amazing how a good thunderstorm spurs new interest in old toys. And with an entire post-it note of checked off boxes, I am ready to put down the anti-bacterial spray and pick-up the jester hat.
There are some staples of a rainy day. Forts. Movies (I don’t even feel guilty about). Home-made cookies. This is all done by 10:00 flat.
We need a bigger plan.
It’s the compilation of all things wonderfully “cozy”…..we will host an impromptu fairy party in our playhouse with our neighborhood kiddos. Somebody has to eat all these stinkin’ cookies.
I tell my two waiting fairies to stay on our porch while I run the computer and blankets out to the playhouse. Then together we make the wet dash to the playhouse. Its raining so hard, I actually consider the possiblity of finding ruby slippers sticking out from the foundation.
Dripping fairy gowns. Muddy feet. Twinkle lights. Giant smiles.
Door handle on floor…..what?
With great effort to keep the rain out, my four year old has slammed the door so hard, the handle comes off and we are locked inside.
I can actually hear the world laughing at me.
This moment, like so many lately, reminds me I am not in charge. Ever.
Fairy hysteria hits and God save me…is there really anything worse? My young Liza Minnelli screams, “We are going to die!!!” while literally running and throwing her bird body at the door to get out. There is goldfish rationing. Safety rules are reitterated. The littlest fairy is in the corner shaking because a giant clap of thunder has just made the windows rattle and I’m sure she thinks these are her last moments. I wish I could reassure her. Older sister is not an easy melt-down to witness.
I’m no MacGyver. There are no bobby pins and extra wire. There are stuffed animals staring blankly at me from their designated playhouse chairs which just seem to add to the audience of failure. I’m cursing my Boy Scout husband for building a freakin’ bomb-sturdy shelter. The fairies are now smearing their glitter cheeks against the windows, scratching to get out. Its beginning to look like a hot pink helter skelter in here.
Just as I’m about to pull an Alice in Wonderland, and literally throw my giant size mom body through the mini-playhouse windows…I rattle the screen free. Screams of joy. Puddles of pee. Little fairy is so relieved she lets is all go on the floor. Hey, we all celebrate in our own way. I shove my four year old out the mini-window in the middle of the hurricane and she obediently opens the door and sets us free.
So much for “Mommy-makes-rainy-days-special”. We narrowly escaped and entire afternoon of angry Tink going ballistic in unsanitary conditions. We retreat to normality.
And all is fine. Actually, all is grand.
Sometimes I make it more work than it needs to be. A lot of the time. Maybe it’s the need to create and accomplish something separate from the normal routine. Not just laundry and dishwashers and seatbelts. Maybe it’s my own wish fulfillment, both as a child and a mother.
I would have loved a 2 story playhouse with twinkling lights and my own front porch. I would have relished in a rainy day getaway. And, I would love them to remember me as a mom that put down the Everyday once in a while to make room, messy as it may be, to experience the Exceptional day. Mom’s lipstick. Lunch on a kabob. Butterfly streamers. Cookie stands. But, this is about me, and the world so gently reminds me of this fact.
They are happy with the smallest of luxuries….PB&J and popcorn for lunch. It doesn’t even need butter.