Umbrella People

I've always had a problem with umbrellas. When I was a kid, I had this beautiful pink ruffly girly one that I loved - and hated.

I'm not sure at what point we, as a society, decided that it was acceptable to soak oneself to the bone daily in the shower or that it's perfectly logical to run through a sprinkler or lay half-naked in a giant pool of water on a hot summer day, but on that exact same type of day a person would have to be insane not to want a giant synthetic mushroom covering as much of him/her as possible should a few drops of water begin to fall from the sky.

But back to my pretty pink umbrella. Obviously I loved it for it's sheer beauty which is most likely why I tolerated it for so long, especially after the unfortunate day when I passed under a wily maple tree on my walk to school and a spider rudely and terrifyingly fell on top of it and I had to look at the horrid thing through the semi-transparent veil of my pretty though from that point on, somewhat permanently diminished, ruffly umbrella.
Beyond the unfortunate arachnid episode, I also hated that the umbrella pinched my poor delicate little girl fingers every time I tried to fold the darn thing down.  And, let's face it, once you have arrived, hopefully dry, at your desired location, then there's still a) the trying to hold the umbrella far enough from your body so you can shake the rainwater you've thus far worked so hard to keep away from you from spraying all over the (presumably nice) clothing that you've been trying to protect, and b) the trying to set the umbrella down in just such a way and in just such a location that it's likely to dry out before it's next use and it won't roll away down the church stairs.  (Make of it what you will, but for whatever reason the skies always seemed to open up just as I was making my way to the sanctuary. It even rained on the day of my wedding. I didn't use an umbrella then either.)
Although, in defense of my synthetic friends, you almost definitely needn't sweat the stair issue if your umbrellas are anything like most of the umbrellas at our house were and a good half of the sharp metal spokes have separated from the fabric, protruding dangerously out the sides and providing a comfortable level of insurance that your umbrella will not ever be rolling anywhere again. Of course the kind of insurance that umbrellas in this condition really should come with is additional health insurance to cover anyone who may be walking at eye level next to them, but my pretty pink umbrella was designed for children so it had convenient plastic spoke covers to avoid just these kinds of liabilities. I wasn't afforded the privilege of carrying one of the AFLAC-necessitating umbrellas until a good many years later when I was deemed responsible enough to put my friends eyes out with impugnity.

Finally, when I was in 11th grade, I participated in my high school production of Singin' in the Rain for which every ensemble member was required to purchase a specific brand of umbrella in a specified color. Somewhat to my dismay, I was assigned the yellow umbrella, a color that I didn't mind, but didn't love, and that I continue to be saddled with to this day. My best guess is that this bright yellow emcumbrance is currently located somewhere in the trunk of my car... or maybe my husband's car... or maybe the broom closet... or maybe... Well, the fact is that I haven't got a clue what became of it beyond that I am still in possession of it in some capacity because by the 11th grade I was for all intents and purposes and thoroughly and completely over and done with umbrellas. Actually, I should really consider looking through some of my old high school memoribilia to see if I can't find any photographs from that production because these would serve as the only official documentation of the last time I used (or probably even laid hands on) an umbrella. I no longer even stand beneath other people's umbrellas when they offer. There's almost always an awning or vehicle available in the general vicinity, and even when there isn't... well, it's just a matter of principle.

There are a great many undesirable personality traits and/or bad habits that we inadvertently pass on to our children. In fact, although my oldest child has only yesterday celebrated his fifth birthday, thus rendering the following declaration a really bad sign, just off the top of my head I can list a number of these - let's call them hereditary traits - that I have put upon my young ones to date, not the least of which is hardly ever wearing any kind of protective outerwear regardless of the weather. If you're thinking that statement can't be accurate due to the fact that you've often seen me clad in my husband's huge black wool peacoat, although it has been pretty darn cold out recently this phenomenon is scarcely weather-related.  Much more closely related than the elements is the fact that my eight plus months pregnant form refuses to squeeze into anything that either fits properly or looks half-decent; the peacoat being the perfect disguise (must be why they're so popular with detectives) as it covers both my belly and the top of my pants, sooo as long as my lower legs look somewhat stylish, BOOM, I become instantaneously socially acceptable. Now if I could only manage to get my hair styled in the morning...
Unfortunately, while leading by example is a respected and useful method of preschooler training, I don't model coat-wearing nearly often or consistently enough to even scratch the surface of the damage I've already done and thus my kids continue to feel, as I secretly (or perhaps now not-so-secretly) do, that unless you're planning to stand or sit out in the frigid elements for an elongated time period (a thing I seldom purposely do), it's much faster and more comfortable to leave these cumbersome bindings behind and just make a break for the nearest heated structure instead. Does this strategy have its pitfalls? Definitely. Have I been practicing it for a great many years with no fatalities to speak of? (sorry mom) Absolutely.

So you see how I use my insane twist on psychology to justify my dysfunctional and illogical behavior. As you know if you are a parent (or will likely learn soon enough if you are not one) everything you do and say to or in the vicinity of your children has unintended repercussions. Sometimes these are good. (For example, my little mom heart melts a lot every time I watch my children playing sweetly with their baby dolls or nurturing one another using language that is unmistakably mine.) And sometimes they're... well... just plain paranoid - like this:
A couple of weeks ago, I was dropping Julianne off at preschool during a torrential downpour when the mom of a little boy from Julianne's class offered us a spot under her umbrella. The distance between my car and the school was literally not more than 50 feet, thus activating my defensive umbrella-evading impulses and causing me to turn down her generous offer. (I should also add that we had almost traveled the distance between our car and hers when she made the offer; her car being parked a good 30 feet closer to the door then ours was.)  As we safely procured a nice dry post (shockingly, despite our rogue umbrellalessness, we didn't get that wet in the first place) inside the door (nice umbrella mom was still outside the door (which has no awning) shaking out and attempting to close the clearly indispensible tool that was her umbrella), Julianne finally thought to pose to me the age-old question of why we don't have an umbrella. My mind, as usual consumed with the idea of getting up the stairs and into the classroom less than half an hour late for once, I offhandedly responded, "We're just not umbrella people."
When I returned a bit under 3 hours later to retrieve her, the rain had still not ceased and umbrella-clad moms were gathering in droves at the door futilely attempting to shake off what was still coming down. While they spent their time engaged in this useful activity, I made my way up the stairs, picked up Julianne, and we emerged, hand-in-hand into the torrent on the heels of another little boy and his mom.  On our way out the door, we were temporarily delayed as the mom stopped to pick up her umbrella (to be fair, her vehicle was parked slightly  farther from the door than was the first mom's, though still not farther than my own) before heading off in the opposite direction. As they walked away, Julianne glanced several times back at them, pensively, suspiciously, before motioning for me to move my ear closer to her lips and nervously inquiring, "Mom... are they... ... umbrella people?"

Yes Dear. Beware. Beware the Umbrella People. They're Smart. They're Crafty. And They Like to be Dry.
If not for logic and the sensible application of physics, they would be Unstoppable.

This is not the pink ruffly umbrella with which I spent a relatively minor portion of my childhood.
If I ever do manage to turn up a picture of me actually holding mine I'll  definitely use it to replace this one.
Or I'll burn it.
One or the other.
Beware the Umbrella People