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I’m learning that fall, in Iowa, is rainy. Having grown up in an arid desert, I have a true appreciation for rain. I am probably one of the few people on earth who prefer clouds to sun (most of the time). There are times, however, when rain makes my day a little inconvenient. Grocery shopping with two toddlers in the rain is complicated. So is keeping a 7 year old boy out of the puddles.  But this morning, I learned a lesson about rain, and about perseverance, from a little girl with a Hello Kitty umbrella. She is infinitely smarter than me.

My children probably don’t realize how fortunate they are to have at least one parent who is capable of driving them to school every morning. This is one of the luxuries of being self-employed: The flexibility to “be there” for your family without feeling like you are disobeying a corporate policy. This morning, I lined up the kids, made sure they were properly layered for warmth, and topped them off with hooded rain jackets and an umbrella, to boot. All this so that they could make the short trip from our doorstep to our driveway, and then from our car door to the school doors, without getting wet. Excessive? Maybe. But that’s just the kind of Mom I am.

And we were off to make the mile drive to the school. All safe and sound, warm and dry. As we pulled up to the stoplight about half a mile from the school, I spotted it: A bright pink “Hello Kitty” umbrella, only a few feet off the ground, bouncing up and down toward the crossing guard. It’s carrier, a little girl of maybe 6 years, was wearing a sweatshirt with a hood, jeans, and sneakers. No rain jacket. No galoshes. All that protected her from the harsh—and now pouring—rain was essentially a nylon cat.

I could see that she was getting wet. Her pant legs were soaked to the calves, and she still had half a mile to go before reaching the school’s steps. I wanted to stop and say “Come here, honey, get in our car and I’ll take you to school.” But I didn’t. Why not? Because even when I have a car full of my own kids and a working relationship with the school administrators, I am still a “stranger” to this particular child. And in this society that has become so dangerous for children, I didn’t want to frighten her and make her trip to school even more difficult. So I drove by, dropped off my kids, and headed home.

That’s when I saw her again…the umbrella still bouncing, but this time I could see her face. She had obviously been crying at some point, but her face was now beaming, she could see the school just ahead. She had almost reached her goal.

I won’t lie, raising a family of six, working from home and working on our home is challenging. Throw in a recessed economy and the tribulations of maintaining our livelihoods (and the livelihoods of those we employ), and you have a pretty valid explanation for chronic insomnia. It is so easy, so easy to lose sight of the light at the end of the tunnel–the schoolhouse, just up the road, after a long, cold, rainy walk from home. This little girl and her kitty umbrella encapsulated both the pain of perseverance–and the triumph.

What is the schoolhouse at the end of your rainy walk? Do you love Hello Kitty? Tell me here @AmySwipeRite

I’m learning that fall, in Iowa, is rainy. Having grown up in an arid desert, I have a true appreciation for rain. I am probably one of the few people on earth who prefer clouds to sun (most of the time). There are times, however, when rain makes my day a little inconvenient. Grocery shopping with two toddlers in the rain is complicated. So is keeping a 7 year old boy out of the puddles.  But this morning, I learned a lesson about rain, and about perseverance, from a little girl with a Hello Kitty umbrella. She is infinitely smarter than me.

My children probably don’t realize how fortunate they are to have at least one parent who is capable of driving them to school every morning. This is one of the luxuries of being self-employed: The flexibility to “be there” for your family without feeling like you are disobeying a corporate policy. This morning, I lined up the kids, made sure they were properly layered for warmth, and topped them off with hooded rain jackets and an umbrella, to boot. All this so that they could make the short trip from our doorstep to our driveway, and then from our car door to the school doors, without getting wet. Excessive? Maybe. But that’s just the kind of Mom I am.

And with that, we were off to make the mile drive to the school. All safe and sound, warm and dry. As we pulled up to the stoplight about half a mile from the school, I spotted it: A bright pink “Hello Kitty” umbrella, only a few feet off the ground, bouncing up and down toward the crossing guard. It’s carrier, a little girl of maybe 6 years, was wearing a sweatshirt with a hood, jeans, and sneakers. No rain jacket. No galoshes. All that protected her from the harsh—and now pouring—rain was essentially a nylon cat.

I could see that she was getting wet. Her pant legs were soaked to the calves, and she still had half a mile to go before reaching the school’s steps. I wanted to stop and say “Come here, honey, get in our car and I’ll take you to school.” But I didn’t. Why not? Because even when I have a car full of my own kids and a working relationship with the school administrators, I am still a “stranger” to this particular child. And in this society that has become so dangerous for children, I didn’t want to frighten her and make her trip to school even more difficult. So I drove by, dropped off my kids, and headed home.

That’s when I saw her again…the umbrella still bouncing, but this time I could see her face. She had obviously been crying at some point, but her face was now beaming, she could see the school just ahead. She had almost reached her goal.

I won’t lie, raising a family of six, working from home and working on our home is challenging. Throw in a recessed economy and the tribulations of maintaining our livelihoods (and the livelihoods of those we employ), and you have a pretty valid explanation for chronic insomnia. It is so easy, so easy to lose sight of the light at the end of the tunnel–the schoolhouse, just up the road, after a long, cold, rainy walk from home. This little girl and her kitty umbrella encapsulated both the pain of perseverance–and the triumph.

What is the schoolhouse at the end of your rainy walk? Do you love Hello Kitty? Tell me here @AmySwipeRite