Every year, my mother-in-law has a Memorial Day party. Every year, it rains. This is true. So much so that she has purchased a number of tents and extra large umbrellas and sets them up ahead of time. This year was no different. It looked ok to start, but then, just as expected, the dark clouds rolled in and down came the rain.
Rain does not bother children in the least. Somewhere in life, probably around puberty, we decide that standing in the rain is bad. Then, when our kids come along, we have to relearn that a little rain won’t hurt anything. Sam knows this very well.
He does not fear the rain. In fact, he feels at one with it.
Half-way through the party, he looks at me and says, “Daddy, I gonna pee outside.”
We try to encourage using the potty, but if he’s gotta go, he’s gotta go.
“Ok, Sam. Go back to the corner of the yard.”
Sam walks to the corner, drops his shorts, and does his thing. In the middle, he cranes his neck around to look at me and says, “Look Daddy, I waterin’ the plants!”
