Right As Rain a.k.a The Bug & The Pea Get Drenched

Right As Rain A bottle of blue soap sits on my kitchen sink. It’s called “Rain.” The scent is lovely and refreshing. I love the smell of rain. Yesterday during a storm, I stood under cover of my front porch and took deep breaths, eyes closed. The Pea thought I was out of my ever-lovin’ mind. But what a brilliant idea to capture the smell of rain in a product meant to clean, like soap. Rain is such a phenomenal cleansing agent. (Especially when we’re talking about the hood of my car, covered in bird do-do, and the rain shower cleans it off.) Doesn’t it seem as if the world is a cleaner place after a rainfall? As if the water washes away all that is wrong and leaves a shiny newness. During the summer it rains most every day in New Orleans. The beginning of the day is sweltering, but the storm comes along and cools everything off significantly. The evenings are much more pleasant than you might imagine. We try to keep umbrellas handy, especially when running errands. The general rule of thumb is: if I’m exiting the Winn-Dixie with a mound of groceries in my care = torrential downpour. The Bug and the Pea love to play in the rain. (Which is ironic since the Bug is terrified of thunder, anyhoooooo…) They make no pretense of staying dry. In fact, they don swimsuits and spin around our backyard. Their favorite spot is beneath the tree branches. They’ll reach out and gently shake the branch to experience the “shower” of water in the midst of the rain. This afternoon some sweet friends from Kentucky met up with us at Audubon Park. On our drive to the park, the kids were at each others’ throats. (Which seems to be the new norm as we near the end of summer and our 24/7 togetherness bonding time.) I mean we’re talking two seriously grumpy little girls. (“Don’t make me pull this car over!”) I warned them within an inch of their lives to behave when we were with our friends. (Especially since I’ve secretly betrothed my oldest child to my friend’s oldest son, anyhoooo…) We parked the car, hugs all around! Right on schedule, a storm rolled through. We stayed dry beneath a shelter and visited. While the grown ups chatted, the four children inched their way ever closer to the shelter’s edge. The rain came down in sheets. After a few minutes, the Bug could stand it no longer. She asked permission to run in the rain. As all lightning and thunder had subsided, I gave her my blessing. Before long, all four children were chasing each other in the rain. Pure unadulterated bliss. Splashing puddles, arms in the air. The Bug sprinted in the shelter, removed her tennis shoes, drained them out and replaced them on her soggy-socked feet. Giggling the whole time. The kids were beyond drenched. Dinnertime approached and we said our goodbyes. My girls huddled together and raced to the car, laughing along the way. Thankfully we had some dry beach towels in the car. The ride home was much more pleasant. My backseat was filled with two giggly girls in squisy-squashy shoes, hair dripping, wrapped in towels. It was as if the rain washed away all of their grumpiness and replaced it with the newness of joy.

Sweltering Summers & Precious Pool Time I remember the sweltering days of a Louisville summer. Each afternoon my brother and I would beg Mom to take us to the pool. We were relentless. Often the small blow-up pool in the backyard sufficed. But most times not. (The grass at the bottom of our bare feet was forever getting into the water and making it yucky.) Sometimes we’d wait until Dad came home from work, then all four of us would go to the Middletown pool. Those times were the best. Dad would always get in the pool with us and play. But first he taught us both how to swim. What seems elementary now, seemed monumentally difficult as a beginner. I was reminded of these times last week. The Bug and the Pea went to their first sleep-away camp and I accompanied the group as a chaperone. (Much to their chagrin. “Mom! You’re embarrassing us!”) Boys living in New Orleans’s Ninth Ward comprised about a fourth of our group. Many of these children had never left New Orleans, ever. Not for an afternoon, not for a day, certainly not for a week. Many of these children had never ordered their own food in a restaurant, never been offered a quick snack and drink after a “potty break stop” along the way. It was humbling to see their awe at the little things my kids and I take for granted. The most refreshing part of our day was “Swim Time.” During a week of triple digit temperatures, the pool was essential. We were assigned one hour each day that our group of forty could swim. The lifeguards conducted swim tests to make sure the children would be safe in the deep end of the pool. Most of the children jumped right in and swam from one side of the pool to the other. In fact, all of the children, save the boys from the Ninth Ward, passed the swim test. It had never occurred to me that these boys didn’t have access to a swimming pool at home, much less a suitable swim instructor. From the first day forward, the kids and chaperones set about teaching the boys to swim. The boys stayed in the 3 foot deep end of the pool where they could safely stand. Gradually they began to trust their “trainers.” One boy in particular, M, was up to the challenge. He was determined to pass the swim test before the end of the week. He surveyed the kids one by one, asking how they swam. Then he would mimic them. First the kicking, then the arm movements. M would thrash the water as if he were fighting it to stay alive. But he kept at it. Then, trusting a chaperone to catch him, he tried the slide. Then he tried the slide again. M went a bit deeper and tried to doggy paddle, but that didn’t take him too far. So he resorted to kicking and stretching his arms out, with his head under water. He came up for breath every few strokes. Tirelessly he practiced. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday. Going into Friday, the chaperones encouraged him to take the swim test. The counselors would be stationed at points across the pool, just in case he needed help in the deep end and wasn’t able to finish the test. He decided to take a chance. Under the watchful eyes of the lifeguard, M jumped into the water. His arms began to move, his legs began to kick, we began to chant his name. “You’re almost there!” cried one supervisor. He thrashed, he splashed, he plowed forward. In no time he’d reached the other side of the pool. Cheers erupted from the kids, the chaperones, even the lifeguard. Instead of a victory lap, he went straight to the diving board, jumped off, and swam to the side. The broad grin on M’s face was priceless.