Rain, Rain Go Away

I love the rain. Growing up in Kansas, some of my favorite childhood memories are snuggling safe in my room to the soundtrack of rolling thunder, the flash of bright lightening, and the pitter pat of heavy raindrops. I missed those summer storms when I lived in LA for 13 years. It rarely rained in the time I was there, but I was always amazed at the paralysis the occasional rain storm would cause Angelians. For example,  I would call a friend to ask them if they wanted to meet for dinner and they'd say, "No, I don't think so. It's raining." I would think to myself, "how does one relate to the other? Do you not eat when it rains?" and then I would get in my car, drive into traffic and completely understand why said friend would not want to leave the house. When in rains in LA, people become moronic. If the windshield wipers come on, forget about it.
From Kansas, you learn how to navigate the four seasons. You drive a car in snow, rain, ice, and extreme heat. You could never use the weather as an excuse, but in LA, it's very common practice. This used to baffle me. Until I moved to NYC.

I kept my child home from school the other day because it was raining. 

I explained the whole thing to my mom...how I would have had to bundled up both children, put the older one in a single stroller that has a little rain slicker it can wear (because the double stroller does not), put myself in a raincoat, papoose the baby and carry an umbrella to walk 4 blocks and an avenue. I told her how it would have just been too exhausting to bring him to a glorified nursery school so he could paint a picture of a fish.

Crickets.

See, it's hard to wrap your head around not leaving the house because of a rainstorm when you are from the midwest. You strap the kids in their car seats and battle the traffic, never having to get wet. It's just what you do.
I battled with myself for an hour. The asshole in my head said, "You wimp! Get your shit together and bring your kid to school. You are not a true New Yorker if you can't do this. You are failing as a mother if you can't fight the elements for your children. C'mon!"
I believed the asshole, but I chose to call his school and tell them that "Conley is unable to make it today (because his mother is a wuss.)"
For the rest of the afternoon, I wondered if he knew...if he knew that I had wronged him. I made him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich (for the ump-teenth time this week) and hoped he would never remember this day. (you think I am kidding)
The very next day, more beautiful, taunting rain. But now, I had a doctor's appointment for the baby. I had to brave the storm.
I prayed. "Dear God, let my oldest child have patience and love for his mother as she navigates not only the weather, but the doctor's visit and Holden having to get shots. Let him be the little angel I know he once was in heaven. I need this, God. Thank you."
After an hours worth of putting on coats, rain boots, hats, stroller covers and grabbing diaper bags and umbrellas, with a raised pulse and sweat dripping from my nose, we were finally ready to leave.
The rain egged me on. "Betcha can't do this, lady. We are too much for you to handle."
My oldest son who is in that phase of wanting to walk everywhere, gently got into his slickered stroller and quietly played on the iPad. Stage 1 complete. He's actually IN the stroller.
We needed to walk 2 blocks and 2 avenues without him budging and the baby not crying. Stage 2 complete. We arrived without tears.
At the doctor, I needed Conley to sit quietly while the doctor examined Holden and gave him his shots. He sat in a little chair in the office and did not say a word except, "Hello, doctor." Stage 3 complete. I had to lift my jaw from off the floor.
Final maneuver, Get the crew home without any drama. Stage 4 and Mission, COMPLETE.
I did it! I navigated my family through the rain. Thank you, God.
I had to celebrate. I called people. I put on music and danced with my kids. And we ate...and what did we eat...?
PIZZA!

My husband suggested that next time, I call a car service. Yes, a car service to drive us 4 (ish) blocks.

Ahh, New York.