Drip, Drip, Drop

People keep saying they're ready for the sun to come out. Ready for warm. Sick of the rain. Not me. I love these chilly, rainy days. Before we know it, summer will be here in all its scorching, infernal glory and I'll be pining for sweatshirts, baking-days, footie-pajamas and soup. I think it rained for twenty four solid hours yesterday. We never left the house. And other than a worried preoccupation with the accumulating water on my front porch, I was just delighted with the cozy confinement of the day. My favorite moment happened just after I put Lily down for her afternoon nap.

"Do you want to run and jump in my bed, mama?" came the question from a wide-eyed, pajama-clad Henry.
"I sure do," I said, already running.
We ran. And we jumped. And we burrowed into his fluffy, down blanket. And then we burrowed our way through the stack of seven books on his bedside table.

The rain dripped lazily from the roof outside the window. While side-ways smiles, contentment and calm puddled up around us.