Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head

This morning we woke up to the sound of a gentle pitter-patter on the roof. Sweet, life-giving rain was falling.

Not wanting to miss out on this rare opportunity, we rushed through breakfast and then rushed outside.
In our pajamas.
Without shoes.
You may judge me as a mother. But if this bothers you I would suggest you not read on.

The world was wet and fresh just outside our front door.

The rain had called to us and we responded.

We could not resist her tempting voice - it kept pulling us farther and farther from safety. From sanity.

Yes, not only is my child outside in her nightgown...in the rain...without shoes...she is ALSO headed towards the street. And drinking water off the ground.  I warned  you not to read on. My awesome-mothering instincts must have been washed away in the rain.

 So I joined her. Nay, I LED her into mischief.

We splashed in the street water.

 We crawled down the street.

 We even threw rocks.

On our way back home my awesome-mothering instincts started to kick in again. We stopped to smell the flowers.

We practiced our counting. Bilingually. (Daddy will be so proud.)

We went straight into a warm bath.

And then into a fluffy, fresh-from-the-dryer, warm towel.

And then into clean clothes with a warm bottle and a gentle swing.

All that was left to recover from our slightly irresponsible, but enormously fun outing was this:

Mischief managed.