Around 9-ish, The Waug
started her usual tinkle dance at the back door. Normally, someone opens the
backdoor and she goes to handle her business. The difference on Friday night
being that it was coming a monsoon. So I told her no, she had to wait.
(Which led
to super pouty Waug face)
I had finished my work
about then, needed a shower and decided after seeing it had slowed. I’ll just take her out and not worry about
getting a little damp. So off we
went.
The wind was surprisingly
warm, the rain a steady, cool drizzle with no lightening as we made our way down
the sidewalk. She gave me several moments of Waugy side-eye as the rain
started to wet her to the skin but she eventually got into it and jauntily
pranced in the streams of water rushing down the sides of the road.
By the time we reached
the end of the street I realized how tight I’d been wound. Like coiled steel
tight. I’d had a neck ache for two days that suddenly let go. I stood in the
road and turned my face to the black sky and let the rain wash it all away for
a moment. Now it wasn’t a quiet walk at all. Choruses of frogs were having a
wonderful time singing the praises of the rain. As I turned to go back to the
house, the breeze brought a cloud of Honeysuckle. Heavy on the humid air and
almost syrupy. The sharp, salty smell of wet asphalt and the sweet and sourness
of fresh clay that had been turned over on the lots under construction. Like
flipping a switch inside my head, they all added up to one thing.
Spring has sprung and summer
is coming.
By this time, the Waug and I had completely passed the point of a simple spray down/towel off with
waterless dog shampoo so I figured, what the heck. We went back to the house,
grabbed a flashlight, the boys and went frog/critter hunting and mud puddle
stomping.
Now by this time you
might be wondering where this is all going. I’m glad you asked cause here’s the
meat of the story.
Frog hunting, playing
in mud, fishing, and all around dirty boy play used to be the main thing my
boys did with my dad. It was their thing and I didn’t interfere or try to keep
them from every glorious moment of enjoying the activities of the dirty. I had
accepted long ago any trip to the ridge would involve some form of muddy shoes,
clothes and general nastiness.
I realized as I stood
there, face turned to heaven, enjoying the steady caress of water falling on my
face that their time with Dad and those activities is truly done. But the boys still
need that and it’s my job to handle that now. So we got dirty, laughed at #2
jumping in every dang puddle for two blocks and accomplishing to catch some
disgusting little frog that slimed his hands which he promptly “washed” in the
drain ditch, Lord help.
They had fun and so did
I and I think Dad would have liked that.
My boys will be 16 and
9 in July. More than ever before, I see time with them is speeding by. There
will always be deadlines, loads of laundry to fold, dishes in the sink, a list
for my list to tell me where my damn list is for all the things I’m supposed to
do. But there will only be just a few more nights when all they want is some rain, a
flashlight, their Waug and time.
I wish you'd had more
time with them, Dad. I promise not to freak out too much when they catch the really
gross ones.
Until then,
KD
