It is relentless.
It is constant.
It is omnipresent.
When it finally stops raining, the skies remain gloomy, and the threat of rain is always there.
Hanging over our heads and mocking us.
Mother Nature ridicules us with her gloomy skies peppered with the occasional bursts of sunshine.
But the sunshine never lasts.
The sunshine is fleeting.
The sun is shining brightly in the sky as I type this.
But it will not last.
Because the black clouds. They are there.
I am not a gullible fool, Mother Nature.
This isn't my first rodeo.
Mama N is all, "Don't get cocky. Don't go pulling out those sunglasses just yet. You betta come CORRECT. You don't actually think I'm going to let the sun hang out for very long, do you? You silly, silly, sun-loving fool."
I like a rainy day.
A rainy day.
It is too much.
I hate to be that person who constantly complains about the weather. That person is beyond annoying. I am not her. She is not me.
The relentless rain has caused her to temporarily inhabit my brain.
My kids have stopped asking to play outside. Why bother? They are stir crazy.
Shaken and stirred.
Stir to the crazy.
The basement playroom is now their outside. The carpet is their grass. The canned lighting in the ceiling is their sunshine.
It will have to do.
For the most part, I avoid the playroom.
What with the horrific mess of toys and games all over the floor.
Also, the playroom is their haven. Their kiddie sanctuary. Sure, I ask that they clean it about once a week, but other than that, I close the door to the mess and retreat to the somewhat clean main level of our home.
Today, I was collecting laundry throughout the house.
Because it's not like my shorties understand the whole concept of a laundry basket and what it does. A few pieces of laundry make it in the baskets in their closets, but the rest? I must search high and low in places like the playroom.
I descended the carpeted stairs leading to the basement, and I hesitated as I prepared myself to open the white double doors leading to the playroom, unsure of the mess that awaited me.
And I saw this.
A baseball field. In blue tape. In the basement playroom.
This is home plate, and there were three other bases, all in blue tape.
Smart kids. They used the easy release blue tape, because they are used to an anal retentive mother who would not be happy with the extra sticky white masking tape that would probably ruin the carpets.
It is their Field of Dreams.
In the basement.
It will have to do.
Rain, rain, go away.