My four-year-old and two-year-old don't have many toys in our backyard. They make do with a little water table (gifted by friends), a miniature picnic table (gifted by family), some hula hoops and bubbles (Purchased? Borrowed? Gifted? Who knows?), the large, roaming backyard with the shade of the huge magnolia tree and the train beyond the fence that roars by every few hours (which is actually quite magical and somehow not annoying--I promise). Their favorite toy in the whole yard, though, is the sprinkler. They absolutely LOVE the sprinkler. "Higher, Oscar, higher!" yells Lola, and he stands over by the faucet, lefty-loosy and rightie-tightie-ing his way through his recently discovered territory of "I am two and I love the power I have to impact the world around me, which includes turning the faucet so the sprinkler sprays everything in my vicinity, including all over the windows of the house and my mommy." When I protest, Lola explains, "But the sprinkler has to be HIGH! As high as it can go! Because WE are the King and Queen of the RAIN!"They love their power to "make it rain." And I have to ask myself who I should think I am to stop them. The other day, Lola announced proudly, "Mommy! I just went right between the raindrops!" Her gleeful pride made me smile.Raindrops come in all different forms: the driving, hard, and even freezing rain; the soft, gentle, refreshing summer rain; the healing rain after a long drought, and the dangerous, flooding, powerful rain that comes down so hard and fast it has the power to destroy life.Sometimes it rains even when the sun is shining, and the anomaly of that phenomenon is something that can bewilder, bewitch, and beguile.Raindrops can sting, and raindrops can refresh.When I was 21 years old, on a Spring Break trip with Tracy and Susan, two friends I’d made while studying abroad in Paris, our most memorable day was sightseeing Rome on a mercilessly rainy day that turned out to be magical. We have kept in touch over the years, grabbing lunch together in Atlanta, or attending one another's weddings, baby showers, and birthday parties. Through all the triumphs and challenges we've faced in the decades of our lives since that day, when I see their faces, which are now focused on their own little ones running around, I'm instantly transported to that magical day, that magical feeling of being 21 and in Italy for the first time ever. We’d taken a night train and had arrived in Rome at 6 am; we were delirious from the excitement of exploring a new city on top of having gotten only a few (but good) hours of sleep. Upon arrival, we just wanted to immerse ourselves in the city. We ducked from place to place, hopping inside pizzerias before sojourning to the Spanish Steps. And all the while, it RAINED. Nonstop. Not soft waves of drizzling with a respite here and there. It was full on waterworks central. It JUST KEPT RAINING. Vendors at every corner offered umbrellas, and we recited a chorus of polite “Non, grazie” seemingly every second, until we grew tired of fighting the umbrella vendors and the rain. We abandoned our frustration and simply fell into cackles of unstoppable laughter, as the rain came down and down and down. We became DRENCHED, soaked, and felt incredibly free. We surrendered. We just couldn't walk between the raindrops anymore, and it brought us liberating joy. (That's us below.)Not every rainy day can be so glorious. Rainy days force us to stop. We know we need the rainy days, Sometimes rainy days give us a wonderful sense of peace, a release from the pressure of having to try so hard. Sometimes they have a sneaky way of bringing us down.Of course, to walk between the raindrops is impossible, at least in a literal sense. To walk between the raindrops is something a child like my four-year-old might try to do as she skips, giggles, and scurries, filled with an innocent belief in magical possibilities.In life, in parenting, and in teaching, I’m happiest when I attempt to walk between those raindrops of life, acquiescing to their power and necessity, but not allowing myself to be washed away along with them. In teaching, it might be the gentle raindrops of students who need extra attention, or the threatening torrent of school violence that plague us all in some way or another at an all-too-alarming rate.In parenting, it might be the temper tantrum. The 3 am wake-ups. The lack of healthy snacks in the fridge and the lack of energy to make them. The bittersweet grief over all the transitions we know are coming but are nonetheless baffled by: from diapers to Pull-Ups, from pre-K to Kindergarten, from 'tween to high school graduate. Some of us have to wade through the more frightening floods of watching our kids face anxiety, depression, addiction.In life, the raindrops might be the friend who needs to talk late at night, the traffic jam, the overwhelming feelings of helpless frustration from merely watching 30 seconds of the morning news, the ceaseless lament over too many communities who are marginalized. Some of are drowning in tsunamis of anxiety, grief in all their different forms.Despite the threats, despite the pain, despite the frustrations, between the raindrops, life can still be enchanting, new adventures still beckon, and plenty of new glories still await our notice and experience. Who knows where this approach to life might take me? For right now, it's calling to me write my next book. It's tentatively titled Between The Raindrops: Thriving As an Educator In an Era of Uncertainty. Stay tuned!