Running in the Rain

Today was the 100th day of school for Max, and like school everywhere, they “celebrated” with a bunch of activities around the number 100.
One of my favorite parts about working from home two days a week is my ability to participate in classroom activities, so I got to be there today.
But that isn’t what this post is about.

We have, thankfully, been having rain off and on for the last few days this week. California needs it desperately, so even though it hasn’t been the torrential downpour we could use, it’s been lovely having a bit of rain.

I dropped Max at school this morning, and came back home to work for a bit, then I reported back to his classroom at 10, to help with the day’s activities. As I left the house in my not-a-raincoat, I paused at the end of the driveway and considered grabbing my umbrella. It was that minor spittle that is just enough to make you question your sanity, the drops only landing on my skin every few steps or so, with no regularity.

I spent two hours with Max’s class, making tally marks and headbands and counting LEGO pieces to 100.

And in that time, it started to rain.

Do you see that photo above? That’s what Max wore to school today. A sweater and kahki pants, no raincoat.

As we walked out of the classroom, and found it to be actual raining, I commented that we would have to run home, or run the risk of getting drenched. Max’s teacher grabbed his purple cape and laid it over his head. “Here, this will protect you!”

And we ran off, laughing, across the blacktop.

His plastic tablecloth headgear lasted only a few seconds before it was in his face and he couldn’t see where he was going. So we ditched it.

And ran, all the way home. Laughing and chasing and dancing in the rain.

Because this is the kind of mom I want to be.
Because pants and socks and hair can be dried.
Because Libby won’t get to do this with Jennifer.
Because puddles are there for splashing, lack of rainboots be damned.
Because there’s no good reason not to.

We got to our front step and collapsed on the stoop, laughing and dripping with rain, leaving damp shoe and butt prints on the concrete.

Because these are the memories that matter.