Squealing in the rain.

This evening, we celebrated LoAnn's birthday by making Ivan's famous homemade chocolate cake served on a lovely glass platter and going over to their home for a short visit to sing happy birthday and light a "limited" amount of candles. We ate our chocolate cake under the ethereal light cast on our little company of celebrants by the little glass lamps hanging above our heads. A powerful storm was rolling in casting sharp flashes of light on us and shouting to us with thunder. It was a lovely time of celebrating LoAnn and enjoying watching Audrey eat chocolate and chew on the funniest vibrating toy.

But this was the best part: by the time we were leaving to return to our cozy home across the street (literally; how nice is that?), the rains were coming down. The street was beginning to flood and large puddles were accumulating in the grass. We opened the red front door covered in a canopy of ivy and made a run for it, screaming, ducking our heads down. Ivan went first with Audrey in tow in his right arm, as if she was a very large football. I ran after them as if I was skydiving, jumping right after them. As we ran, we screamed little songs of glee and excitement. Audrey squealed and was kicking her legs.

But this is what stuck with me, looking at my strong husband making long strides across the yards and street to the safety of our home with our beautiful and utterly delightful daughter in his arm, held tight and her beady blue eyes turned back towards me, her sweet little face turning around looking at me as we all giggle and enjoy the sprint in the fall rain.