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.