Rainy Day Pick-Up Procedures

After venting about the fact that we have passed the vernal equinox and are just days away from April, I started mindlessly Googling “rainy days.”

Up popped the “Rainy Day Pick-Up Procedures,” issued by the Mirman School in Los Angeles.

Mirman’s rules are for parents picking up kids in a downpour, but we all need Rainy Day Pick-Up Procedures.  Here are mine, inspired by theirs.

Check the Rainy Day Hotline to make sure this has been declared a Rainy Day. If the weather is still threatening by late morning, call a friend. Start a game of “Ain’t It Awful.” If she thinks things will look up, calm down and carry on.

Rainy Day Pick-up Is Called By 2 p.m. If it’s still not better by 2 p.m., invoke Rainy Day Procedures. Eat at least one ounce of dark chocolate.  This can be followed on weekends by a nap or mindless TV watching. During workdays, take a couple extra walks around the office and stretch.

In case of sudden downpours just before 3 p.m., we will call Rainy Day Pickup despite its absence from the Rainy Day Pickup Hotline. Sudden spring showers qualify for chocolate and more. Have another ounce and supplement on weekends with a pint of Haagen Dazs. At work, check your PTO to see if you can rush home and follow weekend procedures.

Stay in your car and have your child brought to you, or park and  get your child. If you don’t have any Haagen Dazs in your freezer, you can get some at a drive-thru or park your car in the Kroger lot and run in. Either way, stock up. You will be doing this again.

Wanted: A Fairy Godmother

Knocking around the Ohio Craft Museum this weekend, I bumped into a charming collection of fabric ladies seeking employment as fairy godmothers.  They were, in fact, called “Unemployed Fairy Godmothers” by their Columbus artist-creator Cyndy Sieving. Each one carried a tag describing her special magical powers.

Clarabelle Applegate, who promised to “Shazzam you into glam,” promised never to let her owner pass up a party. Winnie Burchfield promised to whip up love potions, and B.Q. O’Rourke, who loves to travel, promised never to let you fly solo.

Their offerings made me wonder:  If I could employ a fairy godmother this holiday season, what magical qualities would I be looking for?

I think I’d like a fairy godmother named Mabel Muse.

“Stuck on ideas for holiday hostess gifts?” she would say. “Never again tote a boring bottle of wine. Let me be your inspiration. Let me be your holiday sleuth. I will let you know the heart’s desire of each person on your list. Place me on your laptop for clever online shopping bargains and never-fail recipes with less than four ingredients.”

Yep. I would definitely hire Mabel Muse about now. What magic do you need from YOUR fairy godmother?

Slippery Slope

Just when I’m getting in the mood to clean out the garage toward an eventual down-sizing, wouldn’t you know it. Something comes along to derail me.

This time it was a steel, paint and plastic creation called “Toy,” hanging in the contemporary gallery at the Art Institute of Chicago. It was made of compressed automotive parts and unmistakably – a bright yellow Slip ‘n Slide.

It brought back memories. How many times had my boys and legions of their friends slid down this very contraption till the front yard was mush?

No surprise that it mysteriously disappeared during a garage-purge.

Now, though, as I face another cleaning spree, “Toy” may do me in. If the Slip ‘n Slide can make it into the Art Institute, how can I possibly throw away those extra clay pots? That old wooden tennis racket? The balls that have lost their bounce?

Garage-cleaning has become a slippery slope.

Yay for Me!

This weekend, when my granddaugher Taylor had her first ballet recital at the ripe old age of 3, I expected to be charmed. She and a bevy of little classmates were predictably precious as they twirled and pointed their toes.

But it was at the family celebration after that I most loved watching her. Like the other tiny dancers, her participation had entitled her to a little plastic trophy.  My grown-up brain had dismissed it as so much hype. I was wrong.

“Yay for me!” she said, And climbed on her chair, held the trophy high and beamed.

When we clapped, she went for an encore.

And why not? For a solid two hours, she’d waited patiently backstage – no tears – for her few minutes of fame, then danced out and given it her best. It was a moment worth celebrating and savoring, and she knew it.

Somewhere between age three and age 23, 33, 43, 53, 63….some of us lose that powerful ability to celebrate and savor. We don’t like tooting our own horn. When we accomplish something, we just check it off the list and move on to the next.

We could take a lesson from Taylor.