I have a confession.
When I've talked about dancing in the rain before, I haven't always gone out and done it. I've meant to, of course, but I open the door and cringe the minute a drop hits my skin. I'm a puss. I'll admit it.
But tonight, I did it.
I stuffed my iPod in my pocket, left my glasses on the sofa table and I went outside, queueing up "Glitter in the Air" by Pink.
I don't have formal training as a dancer, but I twirled and kicked and sang at the top of my lungs. I splashed and I looked up to the sky and celebrated life with my missteps and sour notes.
When was the last time you even walked through the rain instead of running inside? When did you take a stroll without an umbrella? When was the last time you said "I just don't care" and stood in a thunderstorm and sang out your favorite song to the skies with no regard for what people might think?
When I came back inside looking like a drowned rat, my teenage son looked at me like I'd lost my mind.
"Mom? What have you been drinking?" he asked me, as he handed me the towel I asked him to get before I went outside.
"Do you ever dance in the rain?" I asked him, ignoring his skepticism.
"Uhh, no. It's wet, Mom."
"Yes, my dear. That's the point. C'mon. Come dance in the rain with me."
I was met with a blank stare, followed by, "Right now?"
"Of course right now. It's perfect!"
And for five minutes, my son and I danced without music in the middle of a thunderstorm. Aside from his birth, that was my favorite moment of our life together so far. Thank you, Son.