A (Rainy) Monday Morning Musing

“That is it! That is it! That is it!” I said with frustration to myself as I stared at my empty umbrella stand. “I am NEVER buying an umbrella in Tokyo again.”

Don’t get me wrong. I love umbrellas. In fact, I have a collection of umbrellas.  That is, I had a collection of umbrellas.

Before moving to Japan, I did not own an umbrella. In fact, even as a child in America, I did not have an umbrella. I did have a rain jacket and a plastic sandwich bag that I would rubber band around my ankles to keep my shoes dry. I’m not sure if it was the family budget or the fad, but every rainy school day, my siblings and I would eat french toast with a side of toast for breakfast and then slip our shoes into our Wonder Bread sandwich bag booties for our walk to school.

As an adult, for whatever reason, I did not have a umbrella either. Instead, on a drizzly days, my colleagues and neighbors turned to the national news. The rainy day strategy was simple: just hold a thick paper over your head and briskly run to the nearest office. When my colleagues and I arrived at work, we looked wet, but also eager, ambitiously out-of-breath and well-read.

In Tokyo, however, kasas rule. So, overtime, I collected a vast array of umbrellas: black, blue, striped, dotted, clear, collapsible, automatic, clear, expensive, inexpensive, clear. But, one by one, my umbrellas disappeared. My sons continually misplaced the umbrellas.
“I left it at school, Mom,” said son 1
“I left it on the field,” said son 2.
“Lft @ *$,” texted son 3. “BTW whatz 4 dinna?” (By the way, *$ means Starbucks. Yes, I admit it. I had to look it up).

My umbrellas were everywhere and anywhere except at home.

“That is it! That is it! That is it!” I said with frustration as I stared at my empty umbrella stand. “I am never buying an umbrella for those boys again.”

Instead, I decided that I would teach my careless sons a lesson. It would be a day of reckoning and they would be contrite. They would be more responsible. They would be careful.

I did not replace the lost umbrellas. Instead I bought a few new umbrellas that only their mother would love: pretty, frilly umbrellas decorated with adorable kittens and precious baby pandas. We’re not talking kawaii desu. We’re talking super kawaii desu.


“Where are the boys?” I asked my husband one rainy weekday morning.
“They already left,” he said.
“I bet they learned their lesson,” I reflected as I watched the storm. “They are probably feeling upset about now.”
“Upset?,” my husband said. “Actually they were feeling pretty good.”
“Feeling upset about showing up to the game soaking wet,” I clarified. “You know because they didn't have an umbrella because they keep losing them.”
“Oh,” my husband commented. “They had umbrellas. They grabbed those new wildlife-themed ones.”
What the what?
“I never had a chance to say goodbye,” I said wistfully as I stared out the window
“To our boys?” my husband asked. “Its okay. You will see them again at 5 PM.”
“No,” I said. “To my new umbrellas. I will never see them again.”


Oh, a lesson was learned alright. It was a day of reckoning alright. In Tokyo, my sons want the newest igadget and headphones, but they do not pay attention to accessories. A rainy day is not a day to be picky.

So, from one parent to another, if you happen to find a super kawaii baby panda umbrella, please return it to me.

I will be the one standing in the rain wearing my sandwich bag booties.