Rain, Rain, go away

It’s been raining all week long and I’m fearing the worst.  We’ll never get to experience the splendor of an Iowa Autumn.  The smell of burning leaves, the smell of freshly fallen leaves, apples, pumpkin picking, fall bonfires.  

With every day that passes, I’m confronted with the fact that my little boy is becoming a … well … little boy.  He no longer likes to cuddle (except in the mornings when we have about 20 minutes to get out the door).  He hates to sit in the car and is no longer a passive passenger.  He has (gulp) real opinions regarding food, activities, toys, US.  He is also becoming very kind and sweet.  Giving his puppy (Feebee) hugs and gentle pats on the head.  He actively says “thanks mom” whenever I do something for him.  And lets face it, Andrew and I still giggle and feel that twinge of delight when we see his silly signature run.  
So I guess in a way, I’m now seeing the seasons of the year like the months and years of my son’s life.  Spring is brand new, exciting, fresh.  Summer is steady, gets hot and unbearable sometimes, but we plow through it and watch the growth.  In the fall, we rest for a piece, we enjoy the fruits of our labors of the summer, and we bare down and get ready for the cold winter when we sit still, we reminisce, we hope for good weather, we enjoy the huge snowflakes falling on our tongues while we ache for the summer sun.  That is, right after we spend hours shooting down sledding hills on disc sleds and then come in for a cup of hot cocoa.  
I love Iowa.  I know that there are so many times I say I’d move in a heart beat, but I really think I would miss seeing the seasons and the earth change right before my eyes.  It’s predictable.  You know that come April and May, you’ll be fighting planters on the road.  In May and June you’ll see the bright green of corn and bean buds against the dark black fertile Iowa soil.  By July you’re measuring to make sure that the corn is knee high by the fourth of July (for a good crop).  Finally in September the corn browns and the yellow ears peek out behind the silks and husks.  Then in October against Iowa’s beautiful sunset, you see the combines readying the harvest.  It’s still.  It’s dependable.  I never appreciated the steadiness of Iowa until I moved to rural Iowa and it was in my backyard.  I hope Brighton can see it the same way someday.  And when he has bonfires in fall and hot cocoa after sledding and sees those first green signs of spring against the black dirt, he tells his kids how wonderful it is to experience the seasons here at home.  In Iowa.
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