Getting Real With Wanda Morrissey
It seemed like I spent a good part of the morning telling my son ‘not now’. Not now, Jeffrey, I’ve got to put clothes in the washer. Not now, Jeffrey, I’ve got to do the dishes. Not now, Jeffrey, I need to take a shower. Not now, Jeffrey, I’ve got to fold the laundry. I was beginning to get annoyed with myself and I knew he was disappointed. Finally, I said, “After lunch, we’ll go outside and play.”
By the time lunch rolled around our lovely fall day had become overcast and gloomy. After the remains of lunch were cleaned up, we put on our hoodies and headed outside. I didn’t realise until we got out but it had started to rain. Not a heavy rain, more like a heavy drizzle, but rain nonetheless. My first instinct was to run back inside. That little voice in my head was chirping, “It’s raining, you’ll get wet, you’ll get sick. You’re not wearing your raincoat. You don’t have your boots on. Don’t you know enough to go inside when it rains.” But my son was already heading to the swings, yelling “Come on, Mommy.” I told the voice in my head to ‘stuff it’, pulled up my hood and ran off to join him.
We weren’t out long, maybe a half hour, before the heavy drizzle did turn into a heavy rain, but we packed a lot of fun onto those thirty minutes. We swung on the swings, slid down the slide (and got our jeans thoroughly soaked), played a game of chase and went looking for mud puddles (there weren’t any). I think that’s the most fun I’ve had playing outside in a long time.
Thanks, Jeffrey, for reminding Mommy that playing in the rain is a lot of fun.
