My son came up for a week-long visit two weeks ago. For the most part, the visit went off without a hitch, as long as we didn't spend any time outside (see a previous post from his last visit: Tweet, Tweet, Tweet, Hoot). Though I appreciate our grown children coming back to the nest on occasion, I wonder if their motivations are more of a hotel respite with free food and laundry service than 'coming to see Mom and Dad'.
At least they see us as a retreat, instead of a reason to retreat, if you get my drift.
It happened near the end of his visit; I was sitting in my glider rocker out on the porch, husking fresh-picked corn on the cob we just bought from a local farm. My sweet husband was kind enough to put it out there for me, so I could escape kitten antics and read without a little chaos goblin jumping and swatting at the corn husks.
During my time out there, it started to rain. I like the rain, so I stayed outside, enjoying the break in the hot weather, the cool breeze just enough to keep the rain from blowing onto the porch. My son came out to help, though he doesn't like rain, and husked corn with me. When that was done, we went inside, and I took the kernels off the cob to freeze for winter storage.
Outside, the wind picked up, the rain threatening to soak my rocker. My husband had his hands full, so we both told our son to bring the rocker in before it got soaked.
The wind picked up. He stopped at the screen door, looking outside, frowning.
"Mom, the rain is coming close to the door."
Suddenly, the wind howled. This was more than a thunderstorm.
A clap of thunder got us both in motion.
"Get the chair!" I yelled over the blustering wind. "I'll get the door for you!"
He went out, grabbed the chair, and as I held the door, the rain came down like a waterfall, the wind blowing it towards our backs.
"AAUGH!" he screeched, as if the rain hit him like daggers, his back rigid as he stood on tiptoes in stockinged feet. "It's wet!"
What?
"Rain is supposed to be wet! Get inside!" I yelled as I barely held the door as my belly hurt from laughing so hard.
On tiptoes to keep the rest of his socks dry, he speed-waddled in with my rocker as another watery gust hit.
I slammed the door despite the wind, and my husband (who heard the whole debacle) and I couldn't stop laughing. My son joined us in the laughter, but he grumbled that the rain was cold.
"And wet," I added.
Mister 'I hate nature' didn't fully appreciate the magnitude of my humor, but he smirked anyway.
The rest of his stay was uneventful (thank God), but the memories will last a lifetime.
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