I had always rather liked rainy days, especially in springtime. I found it peaceful to listen to the rain fall through the newly emerged leaves and the joyful twittering of happy wet birds. I got lots accomplished too, the rain somehow focusing me on some bit of paperwork or household chore.
Oh, how these days are no longer those days. It has been raining for 60 hours. Stuck in the house with a cooped up toddler and a whiny cat, I have decided I'm putting one of them out in the rain this afternoon; the jury is still out on whom. We'll see how things go after nap time. My son is a gentle, accepting boy. His even tempered approach to navigating the world is a daily lesson for me. "What would Bar do," I think to myself sometimes when I am particularly frustrated and feel like throwing things. Since I cannot always eat, shred, or ignore my problem until it goes away, I am often left to work it out on my own, but even considering his Zen approach to living calms me down and clears my head. There are two things that Bar abhors, being stuck indoors and being dressed. 60 hours of consecutive wet and cold has been tough on my little naked naturalist. The cat has similar dislikes and it is quite clear that she blames me for this stretch of bad weather that is ruining her springtime outdoor fun. She follows me around the house stomping her little white feet and yowling, a veritable storm cloud of crooked attitude and pent up energy. I've never tried to dress her, but Bar spends a fair chunk of time laying things on top of her and she doesn't seem too thrilled about it. So far today it has been his socks (removed and tossed in a fit of nudist pique), his uncle's slipper, a copy of The Very Hungry Caterpillar, the television remote, and a few pieces of dried papaya. Cue more stomping and storming by both, the cat because the partly chewed sticky bits of papaya were too great an assault on her dignity and Bar because she got up and ruined his lovely tower.
The sun broke through the clouds for the briefest of moments as I've been writing this. There is, perhaps, hope that we will all be soon released from our indoor prison. If it appears again, I will pull the tarp off the firewood and picnic outdoors anyway. The child will have to be dressed, but maybe he won't notice if there are leaves to look at and wet grass to rub his hands upon. I'll make tuna for lunch to make Her Grumpness the cat feel extra included. Yes! There it is again. Hope returns to this bleak land.
And now, perfectly timed, the sleeper awakes.