It was one of those mornings every parent knows too well. My daughter Maggie woke up groggy, coughing, sneezing, with a thtupped-up head. She’d been under the weather for the past couple of days. So it was a struggle getting her out of bed, fed, dressed, and off to school. I mean, there was serious doubt we could pull it off.
I prodded and cajoled — showed sensitivity and firmness (never waver, that’s my motto!) — and finally, miraculously, we were in the car. Ready to go.
The sky was an ugly mass of gray clouds. Rain poured down. Maggie’s eyes were glazed, she snorted constantly, a picture (and sound) of misery.
Sliding the key into the ignition, I said, “It’s not going to rain all day. It’s supposed to get nice later on. Maybe you can walk home.”
Maggie mumbled something I didn’t catch. It was the first time all morning she’d given anything beyond a one-word reply. I leaned in closer. “What?”
“It might be a good day for rainbows,” she observed.
Hmmm. She must get it from her mother.
And then, seeing that reflective look in your eyes, sighed in exasperation and said, “DAD, ARE YOU GOING TO PUT THAT ON YOUR BLOG?”