ducks like rain

That’s my son’s favourite song. Good old Raffi.

(If you don’t know who Raffi is and you have kids, you’re missing out. Go find him.)

It’s kind of funny, because the album came out when I was exactly the same age as my son is now.

He can’t really talk yet, but he can perfectly sing the tune from the refrain of the song. I constantly find him toddling around the house repeatedly singing “Da Da DAAAAAA!” (ducks like rain) over and over and over again, and sometimes singing it out just because he’s excited about something.

It’s hilarious, and quite lovely in a silly, joyful way.


It’s pouring here today. Just pouring. Raincouver, Wet Coast kind of rain. Relentless.

After our trip to the grocery store I let my boy down to run around in the front yard while I unloaded the car. There he was, raining cats and dogs, happy as a clam, playing with rocks and signing ducks like rain like it was going out of style.

He was having such a great time I sucked it up and took the opportunity to pull weeds. They gave easily in the moist soil and I got more done in a hour than I normally would in an afternoon.

It made me realize the incredible extent to which kids make their own weather.

When do we forget how to do that? Do we do it on purpose, or is a gradual forgetting, a leaving behind? Do we outgrow it? Is it cynicism wearing us down? Disappointment?

We forget the way we used to greet the rain, tongues to the sky.

I’m not sure what the answer is, but I’m pretty sure my son will teach me how to make my own sunshine again.

Or maybe I’ll just grow webbed feet. Cause you know, ducks really do like rain.


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