I love the rain. I love the freshness in the air prior, during, and after a storm; the green trees brightening against grey clouds; the cold drops falling on my face. I love staying indoors and cuddling up with a book and a cup of hot tea, raising my eyes to watch drops rolling down the window and dripping off the roses into the kids' pool.
I love rain, but it does complicate things. You see, my children love the rain, too. The moment the first drop falls, they're running outside, cheering, encouraging God to send "more rain!" Now that we've had a real storm, there is mud outside, and puddles, and bits of wet leaves that stick to small legs and wet heads ("How did your hair get muddy?" "I don't know?")
They disrobe just inside the door, standing on a long-suffering and lately-filthy rug. Boots, socks, pants, underwear, shirts, sweater, jacket, soaking in a pile on the floor. Kids go directly to the shower, do not pass go, do not collect $200, clothes go directly to the washer. Another full load (how many have I done today?)
Washed, children climb into dry clothes and move on to the next game. Washed, wet clothes are added to the backlog in the basket. You see, the dryer is outside. In the rain.