October 24, 2007 by Marj Hatzell
My ability to recall as of late has been, let’s just say, lacking (for lack of a better word, and I thought I’d be witty and make a pun). I will be loading the washer ( not even separating colors) and think, “HEY! I gotta put that on my shopping list! As soon as I get up there! ” And then I scurry upstairs as fast as my 5’3.5″ legs will carry me (petite length) and pick up the pen and…Nada. Nothing. Zilch. CRS Syndrome. You know, Can’t remember shiat? Yup. That’s me.
Life has just gotten in the way lately. I have to remember so many details (yes, flyladies, I keep a list) and even bought myself a nifty organizer because I was tired of the many slips of paper floating around my house. I’d remember to write something down and then I’d lose the slip of paper, only to find it a week later in the back pocket of my jeans, in the bottom of the diaper bag or stuffed into the cup holder of the car. See, the important details clutter my head and then slightly less important details slip out. But don’t despair, because I remember totally-not-important-and-in-fact-it-would-be-better-if-I-forgot-them details. Oh yes! I know who I sat next to in math class in eighth grade (Joe Hicks), I remember the mnemonic device I memorized to take a social studies exam (Debbie Perry Can Run Fast And I Hate That Because Even Queen Grady Fails) and I remember putting rain boots on with underroos (Wonder Woman!) and splashing in puddles in the driveway with the brothers (who were in Batman and Robin underroos. Oh, and one naked 1-year-old and my younger sister in Super Girl). Well, maybe I don’t need to forget that. In fact, I hope I never do. Who can forget the visual of five mostly-dirty and disheveled children who have been cooped up for days in the rain getting the OK from their mother to go outside and dance in the puddles in the pouring rain? To this day, walking in the rain is one of my favorite things to do. So much so that my children now share this love with me. We take walks in the rain in our raincoats and boots and splash in the puddles. The little things in life are the most important. Do you know how awesome it is to do this? If you do not, please do yourselves a favor when you get home today (’cause we all know it’s gonna rain for days). Get an umbrella or raincoat with a hood. Put on boots. If you don’t have boots, put on flip flops, since it is 65 degrees. Go outside with your kids. Splash and get wet. I highly recommend it for therapeutic purposes (and no, the insurance company won’t pay for that, especially since it won’t CURE you of anything). In fact? Do it because it’s fun and childlike and simple.
Now the dog? The dog that swims in lakes, rives and streams? The dog who is PART LABRADOR RETRIEVER and has NATURAL SWIMMING ABILITY? Yeah, her. She won’t go out in the rain. She looked at me all, “You want me to go out in THAT? You must be insane! Now, where’s my carrot?” I dragged her two blocks in the pouring rain with a jog stroller (and a kid in it, I don’t bring the stroller for fun) with a crooked wheel and an umbrella and she FINALLY went to the bathroom, which is precisely the time I discovered that Bugaboo had removed his raincoat, pushed back the canopy, was sopping wet (enjoying every minute of it) and we had lost the raincoat. And both shoes. So we had to turn around and look for them. Which is precisely the moment that it began to rain so hard that it was absosmurfly teeming and I couldn’t see the end of the block. Which is precisely the moment I let the dog off the leash (’cause she ain’t going anywhere but to follow me home!), put the umbrella down, scooped up Bugaboo’s coat and shoes and we just enjoyed the pouring rain. We took our sweet ole time getting home, me pointing out fun things and Bugaboo actually seeming to listen. I don’t get many moments like these.
OK. Y’all have homework to do. Go ENJOY the rain and all the blessings it bestows upon us. You may think it is dark and dreary but there is a beautiful, quiet, white-noise, refreshing side to rain, too. Go find it. Create a memory. So my dog isn’t so depressed.