“Break Free from the Rain…”
The nurse checking my children’s blood pressure kept singing that, repeatedly, in an operatic tone. I wasn’t sure what the song was, who sung it, or what other words there were, but I didn’t want her to stop.
There was something so mesmerizing about it. Her words permeated the small room from her middle-aged lips, as she bent her crooked back over my children to test their temperature, heart rate, and weight.
“Break Free from the Rain…”
I’m packing to leave for TypeA Mom conference, and I keep singing this song to myself in my head. This is my chance to break free from the rain that is everyday monotony of being a stay-at-home mother and be a big-girl for a while. Yet, it’s all I ever want, to be at home, nestled up with my baby rain-makers, and I feel this terrible mom-guilt for leaving, even if only for three-and-a-half days.
I know I will enjoy myself, I know I will be among many friends, and share many laughs, but the rain is what I long for, the rain is what I love to play in and with, daily. Despite it saturating me to a point of pouring rain from my eyes at times, or feeling stir-crazy or inundated with To-Do’s and Mommy-Do’s, I live to wake up each day for the rain, because I love playing in the sun-filled rain, splashing around in all of it’s wondrous glory. Everyone needs to play in the rain every once in a while, and I play in mine often.
Taking a break from it, while needed, still feels difficult, uncomfortable, and selfish.
“Break Free from the Rain…”
Being a grown-up is about making hard choices sometimes. About doing things you don’t want to do, but because you have to do. And I know I will thank myself for the break come Monday night when I’m in my family’s arms again, renewed, refreshed, ready to be rained upon with their love and smothered by their wet kisses. But for now, I’m gonna focus on not causing more rain trickling from my wet eyes.
And pack. And board. And fly. And miss. And laugh. And long for. And return home. To my beloved rain.
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