Ben's kindergarten class is having a camping trip this weekend, about an hour south of us. We are not campers, but we were going to visit just for the day, weather permitting.
Unfortunately, the weather did not permit.
I was out running this morning when the drizzle began. By halfway through my run, at the farthest point from the house, it was pouring. A few minutes later, thunder and lightning began -- not a lot, but enough to make me a bit nervous. I passed another guy running, and we smiled while we said hi and passed each other, an unspoken smile that declared "Are we morons for running in this?" The funny thing was, I felt great running, being cold and wet notwithstanding. Maybe it was just adrenaline or the desire to get out of the lightning, but I was moving. Anyway, I got home, enjoyed a warm shower, and realized we likely weren't going to the campsite. The weather did improve a little, but it was still cool and windy, and we didn't want to risk driving down to Spanish Fork Canyon to stand in the rain for a few hours. We stayed home.
Despite my good run, my mood soured. I felt bad that the weather had kept Ben from spending time with his classmates. I was tired from the late night of work Friday, and I banged my head in the laundry room, giving me a headache. I got back outside again, taking Popcorn for a walk -- she was antsy after being inside all day; she doesn't like the rain -- and my mood improved from bad to indifferent. Ben and I looked at some baseball cards, everyone else went to bed, and here I am, typing and watch "Sharktopus" on Syfy.
Just one Memorial Day weekend, I'd like to have three beautiful days. Tomorrow: more rain.
Here's Day 7.