puddle water

It's storm season here in North Carolina. It's good to be in storms again. And it's also hitting me pretty forcefully, in the thinky kind of way.

In Colorado, we didn't get too many thunderstorms. That was one of my very few "complaints" about living there - I missed the thunder. I missed the puddles and the stretches of days full of rain.

Other complaints included the threat of tornadoes and the constant news coverage about the humidity during the 10-ish days it was humid each year. Humidity isn't news, people.

Maybe it's a girl thing, or a southern thing, or a gloomy-weather-lover thing, but I like to go walking in the rain. I've been on the lookout for some toddler rain boots to take Gabriel with me, but for now his crocs are getting the job done. 

And my boy, he is his mother's son. He can't get enough of splashing in puddles. I look at him and all I can think of is the many, many hours I would play in the puddles that collected on the back patio at the house I grew up in -- the first home I remember. It would rain and we'd have to come inside, and then we would go back out when the rain had passed and there'd be all this warm water to poke at and observe (and maybe slurp every now and then...)

Do you have any idea how patio puddle water tastes? I do. It tastes like concrete and parasites secrets. 

We've had a TON of rain in the past month. More than usual, and the result has been weather that hasn't felt as much like Hades as it usually does by this time of the year. With the unseasonably cool spring and the summer full of storms, it's been a gentle welcome back to my home state.