It's raining, it's pouring

In the mornings, on occasion, I have the privilege of waking my youngest child. It is one of my most favorite things to do. She is warm and toasty and snuggly, and she lets me kiss her sleepy face, and she sweetly and possessively, almost absently, wraps her little arm around my neck and pulls me close. Now tell me that does not sound like THE most wonderful thing. I am quite jealous on those mornings when I find my husband has stolen into her room before me.

During this morning's gentle nudging to wakefulness, as the sleep began fall away, her ear caught the sound of the rain still falling outside (such a strange and foreign sound! We must be in a drought). She dreamily commented about how she had heard the rain pouring throughout the night. And then began to recite,

"It's raining, it's pouring, the old man is snoring ... "

At which point I interjected, "No he isn't - he's in the kitchen."

Without skipping a beat, she began her chant again,

"It's raining, it's pouring, the old man is in the kitchen,

making our lunches ..."