There's something special about that distant rumbling that signifies a truly terrible storm is on its way. My yard is saturated from hours of sprinkler usage and fat little feet squashing the baby grass that was attempting growth in the barren, dirt holes. Holes, you ask? Holes, I say. Holes from the posts that once held up the swingset. The swingset we dismantled when we could no longer ignore the broken beam and dangerous, 65 degree angle of the fort.
I found myself pausing mid-thistle-pull to watch my 2 youngest children fill their buckets and cups with the icy hose water. They raced after friends and slipped in the muddy gullies and picked the watery grass from their mouths. The newness of the activity kept them dashing in circles like puppies with ribbons on their tails until, as one, everyone froze. Music filled the air...
Ice Cream Man!
In an uncharacteristically generous mood, I bought all of my bouncing offspring their choice of frozen sweetness before dinner. My own strawberry eclair bar was better than I could have remembered. Much better than the ones from the grocery store, bought in a package of 8 for the price of 1. Much better to eat it on the walk to the house, hurriedly licking the drips of pink delicious goo in the CRAZY hot May afternoon.
And now the thunder is rapidly closing in on our town and my home. My children are crouched over steaming plates of Aldi's fresh pizza (the best store pizza in the world) while their daddy rants at Xbox's version of NHL hockey.
Mmmmm.... pizza and a storm with all of my family at home! If'n American Idol doesn't get knocked out due to weather, it'll be a Perfect Night.
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