For weeks, we have been trying to get to the beach for some fun in the sun.

Each time it is the same: heavy clouds and intermittent rain.

Actually, Mom is the one who needs the sun. My daughter and I go to the beach to play in the water. We like to bodysurf, play catch and dive along the reef. We could care less about the weather; we are going to get wet anyway.

Not so for Mom. She needs the sun like an itch needs a scratch. Her idea of the perfect day at the beach is a glowing hot sun, a good book and an occasional dip in the sea to cool off.

Despite living in near-drought conditions, it seems that every time we want to go to the beach, it rains. It has gotten so bad that my daughter and I have started calling Mom our bad-luck charm.

They say that if you want to hear the gods laugh, tell them your plans. Having been burned (or rained on) so many times before, we have created our own secret code to trick the gods. Whenever we want to go to the beach, we walk around the house shouting aloud "What's playing at the theater?"

The hope is that the sun will stay out long enough for us to make a mad dash to the beach. So far, so bad. Either the gods are smarter than we think or Mom's curse is worse than we realize.

Last Sunday, Mom went to work to prepare her classroom for the new school year while my daughter and I strolled the streets of Kailua town. It was a gorgeous sunny day and my daughter and I debated going to the beach ... without Mom. Cruel, no doubt, but necessary nonetheless.

We couldn't do it.

We called Mom and begged her to leave work early. She could finally enjoy her day in the sun. It couldn't possibly rain, but if it did, that would be OK, at least we would be together. It was worth a try.

Mom listened intently, but she had a job to do and a schedule to follow. She had at least two hours left at work. That is when it dawned on me. Mom wasn't cursed, she was overplanned and overworked. She lives her life on a schedule that she follows to a T.

The gods weren't conspiring against her; they just couldn't fit into her calendar.

You would think that after 20 years of marriage I would know when to keep my mouth shut. Without thinking, I shared my theory with her. I told her that she worked too hard and that she had to be more flexible — like me.

When I work on weekends, she and my daughter stay home and do chores. When she works on weekends, my daughter and I live the life of leisure. We go to the park, hit the surf, cruise the bookstore.

She needed to take a load off and relax a little, that's all.

On the upside, Mom cut out of work early that Sunday, and we made it to the beach. The sun stayed out, she had her book, and she jumped into the sea to cool off every hour or so. On the downside, the stormy weather that once followed Mom has somehow been internalized. She has become a walking, talking tempest.

Needless to say, my life of leisure is over and my list of things to do has grown exponentially.

One day I will learn to keep my mouth shut.

Michael C. DeMattos is on faculty at the University of Hawai'i School of Social Work. Born and raised on the Wai'anae Coast, he now lives in Kane'ohe with his wife, daughter, two dogs, two mice and 1,000 worms.