Waiting for the Sun

I look up from the painfully optimistic pile of summer day debris in the mudroom--all flip flops and beach towels and pails--to the rapidly darkening sky outside the kitchen window and take a sip of my coffee. The weather forecast had said possible afternoon showers, so I had promised we’d all wake up early and get a head start, a quiet morning at the beach and home before the rain. This didn’t look like possible showers, though. The sky looked dark and steely, the clouds moving in rapidly. 

Painfully optimistic. 

I check the time. 8:26. I hate disappointing them.  

Then, just as the first rustling sounds of waking children begin to play over my head, a fat droplet of rain hits the window. A second follows. A third. The sky opens up with a loud clap of thunder, and the rain pours down, sheets of it turn my view of the yard into a watery, frenetic blur. 

“Mom!” Lily shouts. 

“Mommy!” Aidan squeaks. 

I take another sip of coffee, enjoying a few more moments of peace, and wait for them to make their way downstairs.

Lily, who’s six, bounds into the kitchen tugging Aidan, who’s four, after her. It’s impossible to miss her excitement, it’s practically radiating off her Frozen pajama-clad body. Aidan looks sleepy, and I imagine he did not wake up of his own accord. 

“Good morning,” I greet them, smiling. I set down my coffee and make a big to-do of opening cabinets, and looking around inside them. “What’s for breakfast?” I ask. 

“Pancakes!” 

“Nuggets!” 

“How about pancake nuggets?” I counter, hopefully.

“Yeah!” says Aidan, the clear loser in this negotiation, excitedly. 

I start pulling ingredients out of the cabinet and another clap of thunder startles all of us. 

“Is it raining?” Lily asks incredulously. “It can’t rain because we already said we’re going to the beach. Right?” 

“Well,” I look at the window, then back at my daughter whose brows are tightly knit in a concerned expression. 

“Let’s have breakfast, and then we can worry about the rain. I’m sure it’ll go away soon.” 

Somehow, this satisfies her, and she pulls her brother into the den to play and watch television, leaving me to figure out what exactly pancakes nuggets are.  

I get to work, pouring and mixing and ladling mix onto the skillet in tiny, chicken nugget-shaped blobs. As one batch cooks, I set out two dipping bowls and fill them with yogurt. I add enough red food coloring to turn the yogurt pink, then to a bright red “ketchup” to dip the “nuggets” in.  

The rain continues to pour down by the bucketful. I can hear Elsa belting out “Let It Go” as I cook, and I sing along under my breath, despite how much that song has begun to get on my nerves this summer. 

Every few minutes, Lily pauses the movie and pops her head into the kitchen to ask if I’m nearly done. She’s impatient as she eyes the rainy scene out the kitchen window. 

“Two more minutes,” I say, the last time she checks. “You can time me.” 

Right on time, as I'm setting out plates full of pancake nuggets and yogurt dip, Lily returns, leaving her brother behind in the den. 

“Aidan, come on in your nuggets are ready,” I say and wink at Lily, letting her in on my secret. 

As they eat, Lily chatters, and Aidan marches a plastic T-rex across the table and around his plate. The nuggets have gone over well, and both kids are satisfied for the moment. But what about the rest of the day? There’s only so many more times a person can sit through a 90-minute movie. 

I glance at the pile of beach accessories again, and that’s when it comes to me. 

As the kids finish eating, I take out a pad and pen and get to work. I know I’ll only have a few minutes to work, and I’m grateful for the unusually civil sibling banter at the table. I’m nearly done when Lily announces she’s very, very full, and definitely can’t eat another bite. Aidan is still eating, slowly, more interested in his toy than in the pancake nuggets I’ve so cleverly made for him.  

“When your brother is done, you guys can go upstairs and get ready,” I tell her, then return to my task. 

This was a rookie mistake. Lily immediately begins to pester her brother to hurry up and finish his breakfast.  

“Are you done yet?” Lily asks after each bite her brother takes until neither he nor I can take it anymore. He takes a big slurp of milk and pushes his dish away. 

“Finally!” Lily shouts and tries to pull him away from the table with her. He looks startled but lets his sister lead him up the stairs with little protest.  

“Make sure you help your brother if he needs it,” I shout after them. 

Then I get to work. 

I put the flip flops on the shoe rack in the mudroom. An easy one. The floaties go in the tub. The toys get scattered to various corners of the first floor. The beach towels blend in with a stack of blankets near the couch. The notes I wrote while the kids ate get tucked neatly into the giant canvas beach bag.  

I finish before either child returns, so I go upstairs to check on them and find Lily roughly pulling a rash guard over Aidan’s head while he yells and flails his limbs wildly at her.  

“Thanks for your help, but I'll take it from here,” I tell her. 

“Are we going to the beach now?” she asks, still willfully ignoring the sheets of rain, the bright flashes of lightning, and the occasional claps of thunder outside her window. 

I finish dressing Aidan, who, once freed, makes a break for his room and the chest full of various dinosaurs. 

“Well,” I say, looking out the window and wondering if it’ll ever let up. “There are lots of things we need to find before we can head out.” 

“Like what?” Lily asks skeptically.  

“Let’s go get your brother and I’ll tell you both.” 

In Aidan’s room I make the announcement. “Okay, you guys, you know how we were going to go to the beach? Well, it’s a little stormy out there, so to get ready, we need to be brave pirates and go on a hunt for all the things we’ll need once the rain stops.” 

“Pirates?!” Shouts Aidan excitedly. 

“When is it going to stop, though?” Lily asks. I knew she’d be a tougher sell. 

“I’m not sure exactly, but we don’t need the rain to stop to start our beach adventure. Come downstairs. We need to get some supplies.” 

Back in the kitchen, I give them each a cardboard roll from last week’s paper towels, plastic wrap, rubber bands, magic markers, and (God help me), glitter. 

“Okay, first things first. If you’re going to be pirates and go on a treasure hunt, the first thing you need is a pirate scope to help you spot treasure.” 

Any excuse to use glitter is a thrilling prospect for Lily, and she immediately gets to work. 

“Stay on the newspaper,” I tell her, and move to help Aidan who seems more unsure. 

“Once we’re done decorating, I'll show you how to add the lens.” 

Lily is already elbow-deep in pink glitter, and Aidan is busy coloring. I help them when I'm asked, but I’m struck by their work, that they're able to do so much of it on their own, that they have their own ideas about how things should look, how things should be.

They have such different and unique personalities, and I consider how thrilling it is to get to know the babies I made from scratch as they become their own people. They’re each already so much more independent than they were a few months ago or a year ago. Before I can stop myself, I think about how many moments just like this we’ve had together and how few there are left. How short the years will be when I can still entertain them with cardboard and glitter. 

I’m being carried away by these thoughts when Lily loudly announces she’s done designing and is ready to complete her scope. 

“Okay, but before we do that, we need to let all that glitter dry,” I say, snapping back to the present and to the globs of pink glitter before me. 

“I’m not done yet,” Aidan announces. He’s steered clear of the glitter but is still busy coloring in bold colors all over his paper towel roll. 

“Okay, take your time, sweetheart. I just remembered, there’s actually one more very important thing that all pirates need to go on treasure hunts. We’ll have to get started while your sister’s scope dries so we don’t lose any time!” 

I hurry to the cabinet that holds the craft supplies and pull out a pack of construction paper, safety scissors, and some yarn. 

“Next up, eye patches!” 

Aidan is so excited he shoves his pirate scope aside to make room for the next step. Lily lovingly rests hers on the newspaper to allow it time to dry. 

“Can I make a glitter eye patch?” she asks. 

“Nope, no time,” I whisper urgently. “Have to get moving. But you can pick any color you want.” 

After much deliberation, they settle on purple for Lily and green for Aidan. I outline what I think is about the right size and shape for an eyepatch on the chosen papers and ask them to cut out the shapes. Lily cuts hers out quickly, then, without my asking, moves to help her brother who’s still struggling. 

“Like this, Aidan,” she says, and makes a few careful cuts. “You try now.” She hands the scissors and paper back to her brother, and he concentrates hard as he shakily finishes the job. 

When they’re done, I punch holes in the sides and loop the yarn through. 

The glitter isn’t quite dry yet, but it’ll have to do. I help them add the plastic wrap to one end, tied with rubber bands. Next, I tie on their eyepatches and announce that, finally, we’re ready to begin. 

“Okay, now, in order to go to the beach, we need to find and gather our supplies.” I place the canvas bag on the table. “In this bag, you’ll find clues and instructions for what we need. It’s your job, pirates, to find each of these items so we can be on our way.” 

Aidan peers into the bag and makes a grab for the list, but Lily swoops in first. “You can’t read yet, Aidan, I’ll read for us.” 

She holds the paper in front of her, squints her eyes at my unfamiliar handwriting, and reads the first clue. 

FOR A WALK IN THE SAND, THESE CAN’T BE BEAT, 

SLIP THEM ON TO PROTECT LITTLE FEET. 

Lily and Aidan both looked at each other, perplexed for a moment.

“Flip flops!” Lily shouted to her brother. “Come on.” And off they go, scopes in hand, on a mad search around the house looking for their sandals. 

I watched as they flipped over couch cushions and dug through baskets of old toys, as Lily held her brother’s hand and pulled him along behind her, up the stairs to check their bedrooms. I waited patiently for them to check all the nooks and crannies they could think of until Aidan very loudly whispered to Lily that they should check the mudroom. 

“Found them!” Their triumphant shouts and giggles brought a smile to my face I couldn’t suppress. 

“Okay, then, what’s the next clue, Lil?” 

LOOK UP, LOOK DOWN, LOOK LOW, LOOK HIGH 

LOOK FOR SOMETHING THAT HELPS YOU DRY! 

Again, their little faces puzzle over what I had written and they whisper thoughts to each other as they try to work them out. 

“I know it!” Aidan says at last. “Towels! We have to find the beach towels. Come on!”  

Off they go again. 

Outside, the thunder seems to have stopped, and the sky is beginning to lighten. The rain is still steady as it beat against the windows, but in drops and spatters now.  

I pour myself another cup of coffee and wait while Lily and Aidan ransack the house again in search of beach towels. I’m positive they’re making a huge mess, but even as I look over the piles of art supplies and newspapers and glitter still sitting on the kitchen table, I find I don’t really mind so much.  

I spend some time checking emails while they’re occupied and reply to what I need to, and save the rest for later. It’s nearly noon, and I start thinking about lunch, wondering if I’ve hidden the towels well enough to extend this adventure a bit longer. I take another sip of my coffee, then start cleaning up the mess of crafting supplies on the table. The sounds of my children’s voices filter in from various parts of the house as I clean up, and I’m grateful for this moment in time when no one is yelling or whining or crying or fighting. I think again about how few days like this we’ve been blessed with.  

We're all so busy lately, busy working and busy with school and busy with activities and busy with friends and busy being busy. A rainy summer day might not be the worst thing that’s ever happened. 

“Mom!” they shout in unison. “Mom, come help! We can’t find them!” 

I smile and take another sip of coffee before joining them in the den. 

“Are we close?” Lily asks me. 

“Hmm, how about we play Hot and Cold?” 

“What’s that?” Aidan asks. 

“You hold hands and move to where you think the towels might be. If you’re moving in the right direction, I'll tell you you’re getting warm. If you move in the wrong direction, you’re getting cold.” 

“Okay, how about now?” Lily says, and inches a step to the right, in the wrong direction. 

“Oh, cold. Definitely cold.” 

She moves back, then to the left. 

“Still cold.” 

Aidan makes the next move, taking a big leap forward, but again nowhere near the towels. 

“Brrrrr, very cold,” I tell them. 

This goes on for another few minutes before they start digging through the stack of blankets and pull out one Frozen towel and one Cars towel. 

“Is that all?” Lily asks. “Can we go now?” 

The rain has turned to a steady drizzle, but still nothing like beach weather.  

“What kind of treasure hunt only has two treasures?” I ask. “You have one more clue to go.” 

They rush back to the kitchen where Lily finds the paper and reads the final clue. 

A DAY AT THE BEACH CANNOT BE COMPLETE 

WITHOUT OUR FAVORITE THINGS TO PLAY. 

LOOK ALL AROUND, YOU’RE IN FOR A TREAT, 

PICK TWO TOYS EACH, BUT DON’T DELAY! 

“Pick any two beach toys you can find, but remember they’re all hidden. I’m going to put together some lunch while you guys finish up. Any requests?” 

“Nuggets!” they both shout and run off to search for their toys. 

I sigh and start putting together yet another meal for my picky children, adding some fruits and vegetables on the side that will likely go untouched. 

By the time the food is ready, the house is suspiciously quiet, except for the sounds of Anna and Elsa coming from the den.  

“I definitely don’t remember leaving that on,” I mutter to myself as I walk toward the den and the offending television. 

"Lunch is ready.” 

I find the two of them on the floor, beach toys all around them, lazily watching Frozen. Aidan’s eyes are starting to droop, but he’s fighting to watch this movie with his sister.  

“Wow,” I say. “You guys did great. How about we have a picnic out here for lunch?”  

They agree, and I spread out their beach towels on the floor for a makeshift picnic blanket.  

Before long, the food is eaten, the towels strewn with crumbs and spilled milk. Anna and Elsa are well on their way to saving Arendelle, and my kids and I are curled up on the couch. Aidan is sleeping on my lap, and Lily is glued to this movie she’s seen probably hundreds of times.  

Outside, the rain has stopped, and the first hints of sunshine peek through the clouds. I consider rousing them, packing up their treasures, and heading out for our planned outing. We’ve looked forward to this day at the beach all week. The rainy morning had been such a disappointment.  

But as Arendelle begins to defrost, I sit and watch and hold my kids closer to me.  

There won’t be many more moments like this one, where we're all together, stuck inside on a rainy day with nothing to do but eat and play and cuddle. I decide to enjoy it for just a little longer. The outside world could wait.