Albuquerque finished monsoon season (or more accurately sprinkles season) a month ago, but apparently no one told the rain clouds here. It was probably because they do not come by often and did not get the memo. Yesterday and today there has been continuous precipitation. It has required keeping the windshield wipers ON instead of the very occasional quick swipe during normal New Mexico wet weather. It was so bad today that my sweet Father-in-law called us to make sure we were not on our roof waiting for boats to rescue us. I reassured him that the newsworthy unusual weather was equal to a typical mildly rainy day in the Midwest. (To be fair, Colorado has been having disastrous amounts whose pictures prompted Dad Beckett’s check-in.)

It was so bad today that I went to the dark, deep recesses of the closet to find my dusty rain boots that were tucked away beside the neglected snow boots. They were so far back in the closet that I almost needed a flashlight and lessons on spelunking. The umbrella got promoted from the trunk to the front seat floor. (I used to keep an ice and snow scraper in the trunk, but it is now rightfully in the dark, deep recesses of the garage cabinet waiting for the rapture.)

Being the bad mother that I am, I had sent the kids to school in shorts and shirts like every other day this school year so far. Except this was not like every other day. It might not have been raining at drop-off, but it was definitely a cool, fall morning. When there is a fully cloudy sky here, the temperature noticeably drops. What would usually have the boys and I sweating, which does not take much for our overly active (disgusting) glands, instead sent a chill in the absence of our ubiquitous sun. Along with a good portion of guilt, I packed their rain jackets in my bag to take for them at pick up.

Another mother determinedly posted on Facebook that she would not buy rain jackets for her kids just because they need them now in these 2 days of real, true rain. She knew that those jackets would already be too small and outgrown when needed next time. Fortunately for me, I still have the boys’ jackets from our Chicago days. I pulled them out of my bag of guilt and zipped those boys up properly. These were bought in Chicago which makes them not one but two seasons old. Connor might have experienced asphyxiation from his small, tight hood had our walk to the car been a minute longer. Ethan’s sleeves might have covered his elbows. Being clueless boys, they did not care that their mom dressed them in uncool, cropped jackets.

When we got home, Ethan wanted to go outside. How could I blame him? It was raining after all, and who knew when he would again get the pleasure of walking in the rain? I remembered that the boys each had rain boots when we walked everywhere in all kinds of weather in Chi-town. I went spelunking again. SCORE! I found their old rain boots. Ethan’s looked more suited for Connor’s feet at this point, but we made Cinderella’s stepsisters proud and squeezed his poor feet into them. Connor took one look at his former boots and knew he would have to be highly medicated to survive that torture on his toes. While Connor stayed comfortably inside, Ethan walked with his cropped jacket and 2-sizes-too-small boots to the mailbox and back with me. He now understands why foot-binding is no longer practiced.

I actually checked the weather this evening and will make sure the boys are properly dressed tomorrow morning. The cool, wet weather is supposed to continue. After Ethan’s Lotus Feet experience this afternoon, I briefly debated ordering him new boots. If I got him Bogs, they could serve as both rain and snow boots, meaning I could bust them out once every leap year instead of once every Haley’s comet siting. But my wise Facebook- posting mom friend spoke some sense into me, and I will be sending him to school in a cropped jacket and tennis shoes tomorrow. They can enjoy wet feet from now on in the rare instances that there is true RAIN. After all, who knows when  and how often they will get that pleasure? After these days of unusual weather, my ice and snow scraper is hopelessly delusional that retirement might end. Don’t be jealous of the umbrella, little scraper. It will undoubtedly return to the trunk soon.

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