It’s raining now. Big, fat drops of rain and perfectly warm weather. The shine is shining through the raindrops and the air is warmed. It’s a summer afternoon and I am just under five years old. My skinny little legs barrel through the living room and into the kitchen .
“Mom! Mom! Where’s my bathing suit?” I scramble excitedly toward my mom, pulling at her skirt hem.
Patiently, my mom directs me to the laundry room, sorting through the pile. Once my baby pink one piece is found, I wiggle into it quickly. I can’t waste time. There’s a rain storm outside!
I burst out the door, Joe in his shorts and Sarah in her diaper right behind me. Jumping off the deck onto the grass, we scream with upmost delight. There is a waterfall of rain water spilling from the rooftops. There are puddles as wide as ponds and deep and the bath tub. With childish glee and giggling, we splash around the yard, finding the biggest and best puddles. We can’t get enough of the wet wonderland, the rain pouring down, the lakes of water, the streaming curtains of water rushing from rooftops and trees.
Giggles gush from our lips, bubbling laughter as the three of us flail our arms above our heads, swatting at the raindrops, opening our mouths wide to catch them eagerly. I scurry, slipping and sliding, toward the small slope in our yard. With a wave of laughter, I fly out on my belly and coast down the hill. Up and down that tiny bump of a hill, I was in ecstasy.
Yard to yard we dashed, discovering new games and adventures from the rain. By then, Sarah’s diaper was hanging by a tape, soggy and filled with water. Joe’s face was an enormous grin, minus the top two teeth. And all of us were drenched, head to toe, and never happier.
Don't know why we don't do that kind of thing more often -- why do five year olds have to have all the fun? Minus the diapers of course. Remember the huge puddle in the Blessed Mother yard and the ducks?
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