Rain

We are on the way home from school. The windshield wipers work frantically to direct the torrents of rain away from the windshield. Visibility is limited. The world is gray. We have had so much rain. For days, it seems. I just want to reach our house, a small refuge in what seems to be rainforest. We are so close; I decide to take a short cut, one I use a lot, a narrow one lane road, that is a bit treacherous on the sunniest of days.

I turn down the road, and must abruptly stop. Emma is a fretter. "What's wrong, Mom?"
I put the car in reverse without answering. Emma then sees the problem.

A creek that normally flows underneath the road, through a large pipe, is swollen and overflowing. The road reaches into the water and disappears, coming out some distance on the other side. I don't risk it; I am not sure the depth of the water, and Emma comes by her worrying honestly.

I manage to turn the car and make it out onto the main road. Once home, Emma looks pensive and edgy.

"What's wrong?" I say. I am doing motherly things in the kitchen, looking through backpacks, dusting crumbs off countertops, those kind of things.

She says, "I am afraid of the water. I am afraid it will swallow our house."

I look at her; she is growing up, knowing things that I think she shouldn't at this age (like having boyfriends, or wanting cell phones), but still clinging to child fears. She is in an in between time, and I want to grab her and wrap myself around her so time and knowing can't get to her. But, I know this is a childish thought, too.

I still am mom. For now. I still have the power to make it ok. I still have the power calm the rain, and reassure that there are no monsters under the bed.

"Honey. Nothing is going to happen to the house. We are safe here. Don't worry."

She relaxes a little, and grabs something to eat out of the pantry. I go about my kitchen, performing mom duties. This is what I do and this is what I am.

So thankful for that. I need to remember this. Remember. In the inside of me, hidden under grocery lists, and work issues, computers, and splatters of spaghetti sauce across my favorite shirt, I am still what is important to me. I need to remember it. Remember. Remember, Remember.