When I was in elementary school my mom had an in-home daycare. I'll bypass telling you about all the loads of fun we had surrounding every holiday and during the summers because neither of us have that kind of time (although let me quickly tell you about the time a kid made himself puke up grape juice on our wall to try to get out of time out - didn't work, my mom meant business). Instead, I'm going to focus on the rain. On those lucky days when it would rain while we were on some sort of school break, we would throw on our bathing suits...a good daycare kid always has a bathing suit handy...and run out into the backyard. We'd pretend we'd been stranded in some deserted place and had to fend for ourselves, foraging the ground for fruit that we'd snuck from the kitchen and strewn about. Eventually we'd make our way into the alley, opening up a whole new world of roughing it. When the sun finally shone, or parents showed, we were soaking wet and completely entranced in our world of make believe.
By the time I was in middle school my mom had traded the daycare for helping my dad run their own air conditioning company and I no longer thought to head outside in my bathing suit every time it rained. Still, rainy days were special for me. I got into the habit of stashing away sugar daddy's for just such a time as a rainy weekend with nothing to do. Having opened my bedroom blinds and thrown back the curtains so that I could see the rain more clearly from my spot on the bed, I'd grab one of my dad's old Nancy Drew or Hardy Boy books, pop the end of a sugar daddy in my mouth, and let the combination off nature, books, and candy soothe me into the most wonderful sense of security a girl could hope for.
High school, well, let's just say I mixed my independent nature with a hormonal streak of rebellion that wouldn't be tamed by sugary treats and mystery novels but I still loved the rain. In between getting into too much trouble entirely too often and discovering the majesty that is interest in the opposite sex, I still managed to find a way to celebrate the rainy days. In a gesture that suited my rebellion just fine, on those rainy, gloomy, dark days I'd put on one of the cutest dresses in my closet and head to school. While everyone else was bundled up, comfy style, in oversized shirts and jeans wet around the ankles, there I'd be in stark contrast (or so I assumed). I firmly believed the sunny days didn't deserve all the pomp, anyway.
Now if you know me at all you know my favorite days are still the ones where it rains. I got married in a November because I acutely remembered how much it rained the November I'd met K and I hoped for rain on my wedding day. To mix a couple of my favorite things, I've made K kiss me in the rain a few times and stand with me in it a few others. I've sat on the porch of our home, steaming hot tea in hand, and let the rain be my companion more times than I can count. On the rainy days when I don't have to work I wake up early just to be able to see the rain for longer. I'll open the windows wide, light a cinnamon apple candle, and let the quiet, rainy morning ease my entire being the way nothing else has ever been able to do. For me there is peace in the rain; there is comfort, there is joy, there is something to be loved and celebrated. I'm never happier than on the days it rains.
And I can't wait to share that with my daughter. I hope she loves it, too.
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