January 18

I can't remember where I stashed most of our umbrellas. As of this rainy morning, I could locate just three: two kids' versions (Batman and Planes themed), and a fancy blue one with a jammed handle. (It works fine, but is something of a pain to fold up and store.) As we headed off to school, Abby complained about her umbrella-less state, so I offered her a choice between the trio. Since it would be so embarrassing to be seen with one of the kids' versions, she went with the broken blue one.

She didn't say so, but I suspect she struggled with that umbrella between classes all day long. When she got to the car this afternoon, she opened the door, plunked her bag and phone inside, and closed it again. Then she stood outside for nearly a full minute trying to force the umbrella to retract. I took a picture because it was funny.

But in hindsight, it has other meaning, too. Even though that umbrella is imperfect, it still manages to do its job of keeping the bearer dry. Just like people, it doesn't need to be perfect in order to fulfill its purpose. I can't speak for anyone else, but that's a comforting reminder for me.