My oldest peers out the back door and exclaims that it looks like there's a swimming pond in the park behind our house.
The ground is sopping wet, saturated and flooded; I see it spread out before me and feel the waters creeping up in my heart, too.
While the boys excitedly peer out the window, wishing aloud and to each other about how they hope we let them go back there and muck around in the waters, I look up at the sky and whisper-pray
"Don't forget us. Please, oh God, please, turn off the faucet soon. There's only so much flooding we can take."
I lure the boys away from their viewings of a water wonderland, ask them to get dressed for the day.
"Where are we going today, mom?" the oldest asks.
"We're going to the farm, to the store, to school, " I say as I peer out at the flooded wetlands creeping into our yard.
That's truth, yes, we're going all of those places but, it's not everything because honestly I've already started driving today and I can tell you I'm heading nowhere good.
All morning, I've been staring out the door at the flood waters and staring at unfolding news brandished across screens and staring at genetic testing results just in, and where I'm going is beyond the farm and store and school. Where I'm going is straight into the murkiness of flood waters, and I just know I've got to change the course before I'm in over my head.
The little one takes my hand and we head up the stairs to dress as I call for my oldest to do the same; he's not excited about where we're going today either.
"And maybe on the way we should keep our eyes peeled for rainbows and songbirds and buds. We can count how many we find."
He smiles, and the three of us, we alter where the direction we're heading, eyes lifted to the skies.