Tuesday, April 28, 2009

Rain, Rain, Go Away

I'm wondering, instead of a choice between either 80-degree sunny gloriousness with bathing suits and sprinklers and ice cream or three days straight of dumping-down buckets of rain, could we just get some normal Spring around here?  Or does that not exist anymore?  I'd like a few days of 60 degrees, partly cloudy, please.

When I awoke to rain this morning, I decided to take the girls on a Target run.  We've decided to use our "vacation house" this summer, since we're still paying that lovely mortgage and it's just sitting empty, so I wanted to stock up on a few things we'll need when we go down for the weekend (read:  Orla Kiely for Target plates; sunscreen and beach toys; cleaning supplies, paper products, and kitchen essentials; Orla Kiely for Target bowls . . .).  

When I announced this plan to the girls, I gave them a 10-minute warning about finishing up their play.  After the ten minutes were up, I requested that they get their coats and shoes on. This request led them to run, screaming, to Annie's bedroom, strip off their clothes, and try to put bathing suits on, all the while insisting that they needed to have a "Beach Party."  No, I said, it was time to go to Target; they could have a beach party right when we got home.  Fits were thrown, time-outs ensued, and I finally wrestled Jemma, at least, back into her clothes.  Annie continued to run through the house, defying my every request, and now I started having second thoughts about the wisdom of taking them anywhere out of the house this morning.  Jemma already wasn't feeling well, as she kept announcing in a pathetic voice designed to break a parent's heart, and now Annie was acting up, too.  But the more she whined and insisted she wanted to stay home, the more determined I was to go:  if I gave in now, she would just think that she'd gotten out of a trip to a store because she threw a successful fit.

We went to Target, in spite of the several time-outs that preceeded the trip; in spite of Annie asking at 9:35 a.m. on our way there, "When's lunch?  I'm HUNGRYYYYYYY;" in spite of the way she threw herself on top of one of those big, red, cement balls in in the parking lot when it was still drenched from the rain and got herself soaked; in spite of how Jemma kicked her rain boots off so many times and had to hold the Band-Aids; in spite of the fact that Annie's incessant talking about nothing ("How old was Dad when I was born?  When I'm eighteen, I'll get my ears pierced.  Can I get these earrings?  How old will you be when I'm eighteen? Is this dog food?  What do cats eat?  What KIND of cat food?  What's IN it?  Look!  That's a bathing suit for a born baby!  Can we buy that for baby Charlie? . . .") almost prevented me from remembering to buy laundry detergent, the one thing that we absolutely needed to get today.

Now we're home.  Jemma's coughing in her bed, Annie's singing in her room, and I'm noticing that the rain has stopped and the sun is peeking out from behind the clouds.  I'm looking forward to my hair appointment tonight and to our first trip of the season to our "vacation home" (I will continue to put it in italics, as it's such a ridiculous comment) this weekend.  We went to Target, dammit, and there's a bag full of Orla Kiely melamine waiting to be used.

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