Another Saturday

I finished A Lowcountry Heart this morning and I am utterly bereft.

We woke to rain, and we watched our girl play soccer in it. For over an hour-and-a-half, through warm-ups and a game, the girls played while I huddled under my umbrella. Suzannah's ponytail was slick with water, her cheeks pink. I couldn't feel my toes through my soaked running shoes. Isaac and one of the other little brothers spent most of the game kicking an empty can around the skate park next to the soccer field, and jumping wildly in giant puddles. He was more drenched than his sister. In the car he peeled off his raincoat to reveal a soaked shirt, and his rain boots came off with an unpleasant squelch.

The girls won 8-0 today.

Back at home Matt made perfect grilled cheese sandwiches and I heated tomato soup. Afterwards, I curled up on the couch for a quick nap, something I usually try to save for Sunday, but the sound of rain on the roof was too alluring. The kids took warm baths but as I write this, my son is back outside on his bike, with his boots, in the rain, while Matt cleans the gutters. Suzannah has been reading, reading, reading. I'm starting a new book, too: The Underground Railroad by Colson Whitehead, which I already think you should read.

The rain is relentless. It hits the ground with so much force that the street seems to move, to ripple under the water. The water froths at the edge of the driveway, gushes noisily from the downspouts. The sun will return this week, and I will find it beautiful, but these afternoons are the ones I love the best: rain-darkened and gusty. I didn't go for a run today, though Matt did. I ate my grilled cheese and pulled a quilt around my shoulders. I reread Pat Conroy's 2001 Citadel speech and wept.

We won't cook at home tonight; we'll slide into a booth somewhere else. The kids will do their best to annoy each other, and Matt and I will be exasperated. We will make half-hearted threats. We'll smile at each other while the kids complain that someone's foot is too close to the other one's side underneath the table. Or we'll roll our eyes. Or both. I can see these moments play out because so many Saturday evenings play out exactly this way, and I love every single silly moment.