My oldest daughter Annalise had a friend spend the night last night. It wasn’t until this morning that I realized I was supposed to return this child back home. Without a car. In the rain. Ugh! I had agreed to the sleepover in a wine-induced haze, not grasping this new obligation to warn not only my children, but neighborhood children as well, that they best come to the Kirk home bearing shoes and socks, prepared to walk.

I informed the girls of our new family motto, then told them to hurry and dress. We would walk Claire home in the rain.  My twins took off to change, but the pre-teens merely loitered at the front door. Why weren’t they getting ready to go? Sheepishly, Claire confessed that the fuzzy pink and black striped robe she was wearing over a t-shirt and skorts was all she had brought. I looked down at her feet. Neon pink flowered flip-flops. Annalise had on the same robe and flip-flops as well.

I refused to be swayed by their clothing dilemma. We would walk, regardless. Merrily I swept the girls down the driveway, launching into the Doris Day song, ‘Que Sera Sera, whatever will be will be, will be. The future’s not ours to see...’ with gusto. Mortified, my twins dashed ahead on their bikes while the older girls dropped the scooter and ran as far ahead as they could, their fuzzy pink robes flapping in the wind.

My song didn’t last for long. As it turns out, wobbling down the sidewalk on a scooter in inclement weather is very challenging for this forty-year-old lump. Especially with my pants falling down with each scoot. As I struggled to keep my pants up and propel forward at the same time, I vowed not to give a damn what the kids wore from now on. Instead I’d focus on me, and put on a belt!