I heard the rain this morning and sighed, thank god.
It was a weekend on the go. We did this, straight to that, stopping off there–where there was a bounce castle, and a popcorn machine!–we had outfit changes. Sunscreen applications–“is she wearing sunscreen?” people actually ask. “No. She’s not. I’m hoping to turn her purple.” (Along with, “you should put a bandaid on that,” in regards to a three-day-old scab on the knob of a knee where a bandaid periodically gets placed and then immediately falls off, “Wow, a bandaid?! What a great idea!” Gee, people are awesome.)
By last night we were shot.
We were done with the sun.
We ordered pizza.
We watched a movie.
We literally hosed you guys down outside in the outdoor shower.
We put pajamas on.
We went to bed.
(Well, you’re dad and I watched the Real Housewives for New Jersey and happily let our minds go, going, going–did Theresa just say drownded?–gone.)
Today, it’s back to laundry.
You’re still in your pajamas.
I’m in the closest thing to mine without someone actually saying “hey are you in your pajamas?” but definitely leaving that door open in a judgmental mind.
So here we are, staying in.
You guys are on the couch watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, again.
I’m looking out the window, perfectly content.
Sometimes, we all need a little rain.