Henry is a man of few words. He is my active child. Like Forrest Gump, he's always running... or climbing trees... or playing ball... or riding his bike. You get the idea. But when he does sit down and talk to me, I could listen to him for hours. He's still got what I refer to as the baby accent. I know he'll soon grow out of it, and so I savor every conversation. In fact, we changed our youngest boy's name from Ben to Charlie just one week before he was born because we heard Henry say the name Charlie one day while watching Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and we fell in love with the name.
Today we were driving to the store, and it started to rain big fat heavy raindrops through the sun. Charlie, who's 2, started crying and panicking. He hates it when it rains while we're traveling. (I blame my husband who took Charlie with him to a drive-through car wash one time and traumatized the poor little guy. To my husband's credit, most kids really love going to drive-through car washes. But I digress...) Charlie was getting increasingly upset, when Henry leaned forward and smiled at him and said, "Don't worry, Charlie. God's just splashing around in His pool and making drips fall down."
I can think of no better explanation for rain on a sunny day. Can you?