I woke up today in ten-minute intervals. 5:50 to 6, 6 to 6:10, 6:10 to 6:20. Living only a ten minute drive from work is really convenient, and it also makes me lazy. So when I realized how late I was, I hauled my bones out of bed, pulled an old sundress over my head, woke up baby, and we were on our way.
It was too late to turn back for warmer clothing when I saw the gray hippo clouds rolling in the sky and felt the hairs on my arms stiffen in the cool wind. Poorly played, Heather.
Wearing a sundress in rainy weather reminds me of elementary school recesses spent indoors eating sacked lunches and playing boardgames. It seemed like all of the other kids hated rainy days, but growing up in Phoenix made me love the rain. It’s one of those special sorts of once-in-a-long-time occurrences.
In high school and college, I feel like I consistently wore flip flops by accident on the days it was going to rain. I distinctly remember a horrible rainstorm that I trekked through wearing a miniskirt and slippery rubber sandals from the north side of ASU to my freshman dorm. I nearly ate it twice. People honked.
On my way out of my parents’ garage today, I spied a box of all of our old VHS tapes. Milo and Otis, Homeward Bound, Space Jam. Today would have been a perfect early summer rainy day to curl up with those old movies and a knit blanket. Instead, Jordan made spaghetti, I ran, Carter belly laughed his way through his tub, and we all agreed that the newest installment of Sixteen and Pregnant was a bore.
Just a couple of years ago, Jordan and I would come home late, one of us drunk on dollar beers and both of us carrying the night on our jeans. And we would go straight to sleep.
Anyway, it’s odd to think that all those days are forever gone. But that’s what happens when the rain hits the dry desert.