Don't get me wrong; I love rainy days. In fact, I think I enjoy them more than most people. As long as I can remember, I never, ever tried to wish the rain away. It is the soft rain (or loud thunderstorm) that makes me want to cozy up in my house with my family and enjoy. I remember one time when I was teaching high school, it rained for something like 21 days in a row. Didn't bother me. Everyone was whining about the lack of sun, but I cherished each and every gray day we had. Well, I don't know the exact number, but it seems like nearly every day in June has been rainy. And lots of rain. And thinking back way in April and May, it was pretty rainy then too. It's like we're living in Seattle without living in Seattle. So, I'm pretty happy, right? After all, I love this H2O from heaven!!! 
There is a small difference now, and it's called a son. Poor Luke is climbing the walls. He's breaking the dishes. He's going stir crazy. He's beating down the doors. He's pulling out all the stops. He's going nuts, and getting into all kinds of trouble. And I feel sorry for him. 
A similar thing happened during the ice storm back in January. Because he wasn't able to "get his energy out" as we say, it came out in other ways, in not nice ways. So when I found Luke standing outside, mouth open like a hungry bird, trying to catch the rain rolling off the roof, I didn't stop him. I let him get drenched. Soaked. He stood out there and laughed hysterically in between big mouth fulls of rainwater. It wasn't a permanent fix, (Tom later came home and spent 5 hours with him, biking, playing, gaming,) but it was a moment to enjoy. 
