play in the rain.

I had all sorts of aspirations for the day. I thought we'd head over to the coast and collect shells. I thought I'd finish all the mounds of laundry we have hidden in the corners of our rooms. But instead I put a movie on for Sparky, tucked Iggy in for a sleep, and laid down with tiny Fitz to fall asleep myself.

I awoke to the sound of rain beating hard onto the driveway outside my window. As a rule I try not to rouse kids from their naps for any reason because of the inevitable crankiness, but this was worth the impending grumpiness.

Here's a funny rain story: My parents moved us all from Salt Lake City, Utah to the Great Northwest when I was twelve and we were definitely rain deprived. One fall day the air was warm and the rain fell hard in giant drops.

My brothers and I had been cooped up inside for many hours and were starting to go a little stir-crazy. So stir-crazy, in fact, that I had decided to cut their hair, just because. I had seen my mother cut their hair so many times that I knew I was a master stylist.

I didn't use a guard on our buzzer so my youngest brother ended up baby-bald. I told him it was my best work (which wasn't a lie because it was my only work) and he wore it proudly.

We then decided to go outside and play in the rain in our pajamas. My mom's car turned the corner, slowing down to see a bunch of bald hoodlums playing in her street gutters. Imagine something like the scene in The Sound of Music where the father discovers his kids have been climbing trees wearing drapes.

I love rain.

I love that Sparky was licking Iggy's head (see first picture) to get a drink of water.

I love checking dreams off our Live List.

And I don't even mind that right now I'm paying for our excursion with a grumpy toddler who just bit me.