Getting Caught

I took Hazel for a walk/run last night.  Yes, I'd looked at the weather forecast.  Yes, I got my east and west wackbirds.  And yes, the big band of rain caught us.

Now it wouldn't have been such an issue if the beginning of the walk hadn't been so wacky.  You see, my kid followed us out the door.

Little guy:  "Catch mom."

Me:  "No, I'm heading out, I don't want to lose the sun."

Little guy:  "Just catch once and throw it back."


I gave in and caught, then threw back.  It was a bad throw.


Little guy:  "It has to be a good catch and a good throw, mom.


By now we're half way down the block because, yes, I did keep walking s-l-o-w-l-y.

He threw again.  It went to the left of me.  I kept walking.

He ran and grabbed the ball.


Little guy:  "No, wait!  Catch!"


He threw again.  I caught.  I threw, beautifully I must add.  And he caught.


Me:  "OK, see ya!"  And Hazel and I ran off.


About fifteen minutes later the sky got dark, scary, and lightningy.  And then it rained.  I didn't mind a bit.  I rather loved it.  But my glasses seriously need windshield wipers.  Hazel?  Well, every bit of the walk/run from then on was simply wrong.  Water landing on her - wrong.  Running through muddy puddles - wrong.  Mom insisting that she keep going when all she wanted to do was stay in a dry spot under a tree - wrong.

We got home and the little guy came out of his room.


Little guy:  "You got all wet, mom."

Me:  "Yup.  You think my send-off had anything to do with that?"


And then he smiled and gave me a hug.  I might just suggest a game of catch tonight.

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