Thoughts from a rainstorm

 We had a lovely rainstorm Sunday evening.

 He had to wear a beanie, because the big kids across the street playing in the cul-de-sac were. Obviously.

 She got so excited she wouldn't stay under the umbrella and sat down in the gutter.

 But it didn't matter because the water was warm, like only a summer thunderstorm is. I love summer storms. Their suddenness and intensity unleashes an abandon that makes for poignant memories. My two favorite rainstorm memories are: frolicking, and then wrestling, with my next-door cousin Brinkley (she was the little sister I never had) in a mud puddle. We couldn't stop laughing.The other, jumping on the trampoline with my real sister, who always seemed grownup. Sensible, not the one to jump on the wet trampoline that made a heavy rebound underneath our feet, careless of lightning or even hail. As one who is usually sensible and reserved, occasional abandon is joyous.

 It wasn't a giant rainstorm, like we got early the next morning. There was just enough water for splashing in the gutter.

 As he walked down the sidewalk twirling his umbrella, I thought he'd be a shoo-in for "Singing in the Rain." And then I thought that my kids really ought to see "Singing in the Rain."

That night my son wanted to ask in his prayer that it would rain the next day. And it did--just too early in the day. By the time he got up and breakfasted, it was over. So, it's nice to know that prayers are answered, but oh, if only they were answered a little more conveniently.

I didn't want to go outside. My kids begged, and I finally relented. Something to pass the time until bedtime. Also, I'm trying to say yes more. I shouldn't say no just because I'm lazy.

And this was a good yes. It was a beautiful time, not wild with abandon, but full of sweetness and small discovery.

A blog that I love recently posted about art in everyday life:

 Since then, I've been thinking that anything we do is creative. Any work we do can be art. Being a lawyer, being a teacher, working as a cashier, a nurse, being a mom, a dad, a grandma. I really hate when people say something like, "You are so creative." Not that I don't like the compliment, but it suggests that only certain people have imagination and creativity. 

Just by being human, by being children of God—we are all creative in a hundred thousand different ways.

Can you see why I love this blog?

I don't think of myself as artistic, or even that creative, really. I'll never write a novel because I'd never think of a plot that would satisfy me as realistic. But art like this, I can do. Saying yes to my kids can be art.

Art like muddy puddles and hysterical jumping on trampolines, and a Sunday evening spent in a usually verboten place, the gutter.