It rained in Chicagoland this weekend. And by rained, I mean monsooned.
Is that a word? Monsooned? As in past tense of monsoon? Yes, I realize the word's a NOUN, but people, if you were anywhere near our fair city this weekend, you'd know what I'm talking about.
Because it wasn't just rain. Rain implies spring. Rain implies growth. Rain is lovely, because it's not snow.
This, my friends, was torrential downpours. For two.whole.days.
And "raining cats and dogs" didn't really describe it, because clearly, even Princess the Wonder Dog (her new name by the way, since she's long given up--at least I hope--being a Poopy Puppy) didn't really want to venture out. Well, that's not completely true. She ventured out a lot. I swear she went out sixteen times in one hour. For exactly forty-seven seconds each time.
Except for the last time. I made her stay outside for 10 minutes. She's a big girl. She can handle it.
Sweet Son #1 isn't a fan of storms of any kind, especially those that make the sky go green and make our weather radio go off twice in twenty minutes. Fortunately for him, it was only rain, rain, rain for us.
The Manimal was mostly curious about the water that was GUSHING from the sump tubing outside. Literally gushing. Our little sump pump earned its keep this weekend. Unlike a previous storm experience, our basement is nice and dry. Which is nice. I love a good thunderstorm, especially when it stays OUTSIDE.
Hope you stayed dry this weekend!