for the love of rain

memorabilia #1

Mason and I have a morning routine, part of which is driving around while he sleeps after dropping Reagan off at school. Unfortunately for my budget, my second coffee of the day has also become part of that routine, which I then drink while reading my book in the Starbucks parking lot.
Today I parked, with my coffee, and turned off the windshield wipers... and then the car. Rain. Mason sleeping in the back seat, no music or talking, no sound but rain on the roof. I melted.
I adore the sound of rain. So many memories come flooding in, every time I hear the "dink, dink, plink, plip, plop" of little droplets on any surface. The instant desire of either grabbing a blanket, coffee and a favorite loved one, or snatching up the nearest little person and dragging them out to jump in puddles is nearly overwhelming. What can I say? My mama trained me too well!
I love rain because she loves rain. I love what she loves partly because it's amazing, and partly just because I love her, and so many memories of it have to do with her.
Countless times my mama pulled me outside, excitedly tromping through mud puddles, waiting for cars to drive by while we held our breath and squealed when they hit the edge of the knee deep lake I was standing in.
Possibly even sweeter are my memories of sitting quietly with her and whichever siblings, wrapped in blankets on her lap, while she rocked us on the porch swing, rain pounding on the leaky porch roof. Sometimes it was not so quietly, listening to thunder, watching the lightning, shrieking, laughing or shouting over the noise of the downpour. Occasionally running out to the middle of the back yard and standing with our (generally grubby) faces turned up and mouths wide open to catch the rain drops.
Ever more often it happens as I get older... I have moments of realizing how blessed I am to have the parents and family I do. I see our flaws more clearly, our weaknesses, and I understand that we are human. Yet each time I turn to listen and laugh at Reagan's made up stories, I think of my mama telling my 6 year old self to "let Caleb tell his three year old stories, even if they aren't true, he doesn't understand yet, and he just wants us to listen." Playing follow the leader in the middle of a public park last week, chasing around a 2 year old in my black flats and the mud and not caring how ridiculous i look, i thank her for. Going home at the end of the day with a sticky face and dirty shirt from slobbery kisses and muddy size 6 shoes, and valuing it even when these kids that aren't mine drive me insane, is all her fault. Because she taught me by example the value of people, and that loving and treasuring them is always right.
All of this doesn't begin to do her mama-ness justice. I basically was just born with an incredible woman for a mother.